("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: herbs.txt (mf-teens, rom) Authors name: HenryG (spykke_jones@hotmail.com) Story title : Herbs -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Herbs (mf-teens, rom) by HenryG (spykke_jones@hotmail.com) *** This is a blatant love story, which first appeared at White Shadow, and received a warm response from many visitors to the site. I've revisited it and made some changes, extended it and tweaked it to change the emphasis. I make no apologies for laying things on a little thickly in places. This is a consequence of recent times when my mood has been rather low. Having said that, I have tried to give it a "feel good" flavour. I wanted to explore two ideas. Firstly the amazing way that a scent or flavour can transport you back many years to a different place such as that whiff of perfume that reminds you of your primary school teacher or a previous girl friend. The second idea is what constitutes a hero - bravery? courage? moral purity? I believe that any one of us has the capability to do something heroic. *** "Grandpa, why do you have so many herbs in your house and garden?" Petra asks me one afternoon while we sit on the balcony enjoying the warm South African sun. Petra is a gorgeous young lady of 20 with long black hair, deep green eyes, and a petite figure. "It's because he likes the scent, silly," Jacqui, her younger sister interrupted. At 16, Jacqui is a smaller facsimile of her sister. Apart from their mother and aunt, these girls are the lights of my life. Both girls are staying with me for two month's holiday. "Haven't your mother or aunt ever told you about your grandmother?" I asked. "Only a little," Petra replied in her soft, dusky voice. "Mum said that she was a very special lady. She taught us how to make Grandma's special lotion." "Really?" I was both surprised and delighted, "and do you use it?" "Yes," they replied almost in unison. "It's miles better than any perfume you can buy." Jacqui add. "All my friends are dead jealous because they can't get any." "It has this strange habit of smelling different depend on your mood. It always makes me feel good when I use it. Anyone selling it would make a fortune." Petra says. "Maybe there's a little business opportunity there," I smile at Petra. "I think you might be right," she replies with immediate comprehension. She is a very smart girl, my Petra. I take a breath, steeling myself. "If you want, I'll tell you about your Grandmother." The girls nod in agreement, and I begin. *** "Come on Henry, its time to get up." I heard mum's voice coming up the stairs. It was dark and cold and it was with reluctance that I climbed out of my warm bed. Houses didn't have the luxury of central heating in the years after the second war and the bedroom I shared with my brother was freezing. I pulled the curtains open but couldn't see anything out of the window because of the heavy layer of ice on the glass. I hated the winter - the long, dark nights were so depressing. Once in later life I had accumulated enough cash, I moved to warmer latitudes where winter was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. After the initial euphoria of winning the war, life had slipped into tedium of austerity and hard work trying to get the country back to normal. London, where I lived, still bore the scars of the blitz and even 3 years after the peace many houses awaited demolition. Don't believe the rubbish told by most older people about those days. You know the sort of stuff. "You kids today don't know you're born. When I was a lad life was tough, we had nothing like the kids today, but we thrived on it. It made me the man I am today." Life was tough. Everything was rationed, there were no real luxuries. And I tell you now, apart from the love of my family and my friends, I hated it all. There was no pleasure in the struggle after the war. Anyway, enough ranting, I suppose should tell you a little about myself. My name is Henry Jenkins. At the tender age of 16 I lived with my parents in the east end of London in a small terraced house. Our community was pretty small - there were just fifty houses in the 100-yard length of our street. Everyone pretty well knew everyone else. There were five of us in the family, Simon my older brother, Joan my young sister and, of course, mum and dad. Simon worked in an engineering company and Joan was still at school. I was also still at school and was hoping to become an engineer. Simon had already arranged some part time work where he worked and I hoped to work there full time in a year or so. Dad was a postman. He had served in the infantry during the war and had copped a "blighty wound" in the leg at Dunkerque. After six months recuperating he had continued to "do his bit" by serving as an air raid warden. He was a fabulous dad - always a source of good sensible advice, we spent many happy days fishing on the river Lea in Essex. Although he had no real education, dad had read widely and had great understanding of history and philosophy. A quiet man, he would puff gently on his pipe as he contemplated the water. He rarely spoke about the war. He once told me that the war was an "unfortunate necessity". He had no time for the blokes who spent their time in the pub bragging about what they did in the war. During those quiet days on the river bank dad gave me more profound insights into the world and humanity than any of the highly qualified people who taught me or who I have subsequently met. Not bad for a postman Mum was equally pivotal in my life. She worked part time cleaning at the local hospital but spent most of her time looking after the family. From her I learned honesty, humility and tolerance of others. When I look back and compare myself with others I realise how lucky I was to have such steadfast role models in my parents. Simon was a brother and a good mate. Although he had his own circle of friends, he always had time for me. We shared a room and he often found time to give me brotherly advice. Simon was going out with a cute little blonde who worked in the typing pool at the engineering works. Apparently she shagged like a rabbit and Simon was thoroughly enjoying the experience. What was better was that he shared the sexual expertise he gained with me. "Never forget Henry, a girl needs time and attention - never rush her. If you kiss her take it steady, don't try shoving your tongue down her throat at the first chance you get. Tease 'em a little and you'll soon get what you want. Don't rush to shove your hand up their skirt or blouse. The goods aren't going to disappear and the girls don't appreciate it if all you want is a quick grope." He once told me. "And never, never forget to use a johnnie." We didn't have the AIDs plague in those days but you could still catch the clap or get a bird up the spout. Simon always had a supply of johnnies in a drawer in our bedroom and he was happy for me to use them should I get the chance. Joan was a bit of a pest - a typical 10-year-old sister. She lived in her own little world and rarely bothered me. I had a couple of particularly good friends. Derek lived next door. He was a painfully thin guy with ginger hair. I sometimes thought that if the wind blew hard he would get blown away. The problem with Derek was that he had a tendency to act without engaging his brain first. This frequently got him into trouble but it also meant that life was usually exciting. Derek had a little sister. Sophie, who was only 7 years old, had come as a late surprise to Derek's parents. Pete, who lived a few doors away, was a true philosopher. A guy of great intellect who had a knack of immediately seeing the core of any problem. There really wasn't that much for kids of our age to do in those days. Football was an important part of our lives and we would go to Upton Park to see West Ham play. We could usually only afford to go the home matches but we saw all the post war star players. There was nowhere to go in the evenings so we decided to get our own. Progress had been slow on the demolition of bomb damaged houses and buildings in our street and we took advantage of it. We scavenged a large amount of wood and built ourselves a large hut with a porch on a piece of wasteland. We liberated a cast iron fire, some couches and chairs from damaged buildings and established a clubhouse. We would meet there regularly in the evenings. We would drink fizzy pop or beer (if we could afford it), smoke Woodbine cigarettes and talk about football or our sexual conquests. Pete grandly christened the gathering as the 'philosophical society'. Maybe not a particularly exciting way of passing time by today's standards but options for youngsters in those days were limited. *** I knew that mum would have a fire going downstairs so I washed and dressed quickly. As I entered the kitchen mum was putting out breakfast. Some items were still being rationed at the time and food was normally not very exciting. Her cooking was pretty good and she made the best of what was available. I had to eat quickly as I was late for school and rushed out the door just in time to see Derek walking slowly past. "Thank god it's Friday," he muttered. He had had a particularly fraught week at school. "Are we meeting tonight?" It being a Friday the philosophical society would generally meet to discuss what we would do at the weekend. "Yeah, I'll bring some scoff." I replied. We walked on in silence until we reached school. After school the three of us gathered at the hut. I brought a quantity of sandwiches, Derek provided some bottles of light ale and Pete brought the fags and some chocolate. As we settled down in front of the fire we felt warm and at ease with the world. "What about Atkins joining the Arsenal?" Pete, the consummate football fan asked. "The bloke's a waste of time," Derek replied, "couldn't catch a cold let alone the ball." "I suppose you think that Stapleton is a better goalie." Pete retorted. The philosophical society had got off to their usual topic of debate except that evening we were suddenly interrupted by a tap on the door and the door opening. In walked Shirley Davis. Every school or street had it's sad case, someone who had the world stacked against them. Shirley was ours. A thin waif-like girl who although our age looked a couple of years younger. She came from a poor family. Her father was a drunk who was handy with his fists and loved to use them regularly on Shirley and her mother. He had been wounded in the war and had lost a leg. The pain of this coupled with a limitless capacity for self-pity had led him to the bottle. This spent most of the income the family received from his invalid pension. As is usually the case, Shirley had no friends. The lack of money meant that Shirley always wore worn out clothes. "C.can I come in and get warm?" she asked. At first we were a little outraged - after all this was a select male only club. We then saw that Shirley was shivering. She had no coat on, just a thin skirt and worn woolen sweater. She had no socks on her feet and her legs looked blue. Certainly not suitable clothing for a cold winter. "Sure, come and sit down," I replied. She sat down gratefully and warmed her hands by the fire. Our thread of conversation had been broken we sat in an uncomfortable silence. After a while Shirley noticed our supply of food and drink. "Could I please have a sandwich?" she asked. I could see that Derek was about to make some unkind reply when Shirley stood up. "I can pay if you want," she added pulling up her skirt and sweater exposing her naked chest and crotch. This stopped us in our tracks. For a split second we stared at her small breasts and panties. We liked to brag amongst ourselves about our sexual conquests but the reality was that none of us had seen a girl in the nude. Derek had once found some black and white photographs in his cousin Fred's room. His cousin was in the navy and had got them in Marseilles. The photos showed naked women in various positions and one showed a guy with a huge cock getting head. My eyes were transfixed by Shirley's white panties - the way they pulled tightly into her crotch allowing her dark pubic hair to show. With a shock I realised I was staring. I then saw the tears and look of embarrassed anguish in her eyes. We looked away feeling like shits. We had been so engrossed in gazing at Shirley's charms that we hadn't noticed the price she was paying. Pete got up and put his hand on her shoulder. "Cover yourself up, there's no need for that. Eat as much as you like," he said kindly. Shirley sat back down in silence but with a look of gratitude, which spoke volumes. "When did you last eat?" I asked. "I had some bread this morning," she replied. I was appalled. What sort of father beat the shit out of his family, deprived them of food and sent his child out without a coat or warm clothes. Shirley was busy eating and enjoying a beer so I made a sign to the guys to leave the hut. Once outside I told them what was on my mind. "Listen, Shirley needs help and her old man won't give it. I reckon its down to us to do something about it. What do you say." For once Derek was silent. Pete nodded in his slow, contemplative way. "Why not, but she won't want charity." I had an idea. "We can make her a member of the philosophical society and invite her to join us for our evening meetings. She can then join in our meals. I'll see if mum has any old coats. At least it will mean she gets fed, is warm and has some friends." A female member of the group - a radical idea! Why not! Both my two colleagues grinned in agreement. We went back into the hut and I put my proposition to Shirley. I watched tears squeeze from her eyes and track down her not too clean cheeks. She sat in silence for a couple of minutes before finally standing. With astonishing solemnity she approached each of us, shook us by the hand, gave a kiss and said thank you. She then sat down with a grin on her face. "I think this deserves another beer," Pete announced and four bottles were opened and drunk with relish. As we sat enjoying the warmth of friendship I couldn't help but worry. Had Shirley offered her body to anyone before and had they, unlike us, accepted the offer? Inviting Shirley to our circle proved to be beneficial all round. We were able to keep an eye on her and make sure that she had some comfort and friendship. We couldn't stop her old man beating her up but we could provide comfort to her cuts and bruises. Pete became Shirley's main defender - he had taken to her in a big way and it was clear that the feeling was mutual. You might ask why we didn't report matters to the police but the reality was that in those days the police did not see the question of home violence as being a problem. Provided he didn't murder anyone, a man was seen as being master in his own home. Shirley gave us a lot in return. None of us had spoken to Shirley before and we didn't really know her. Once she came out of her shell we discovered that Shirley had a sharp and intelligent mind and that she was gifted with an incisive sense of humour. It made us realise how limited we guys had been in our scope of conversation. With Shirley present each meeting of the society proved to be an hilarious and revealing experience. *** A couple of months later dad came home from work with a an uncharacteristically worried look on his face. He handed mum airmail letter. As she read I could see a look of concern cross her face. "Oh, how awful," she finally sighed. "Jack, we must help." Simon, Joan and I looked on in confusion. "Are you going to let us in on the secret?" Simon asked. "This will effect us all so you had better hear about it." Dad began. I knew that dad's family on his mother's side came from Poland. He had been out there before the war but hadn't been in touch with his family for 15 years. The letter was from his cousin. It transpired that part of the family lived in a small village roughly 50 miles from Warsaw. A bomb put in his car by partisans had killed a local Gestapo officer and in retribution the whole village had been rounded up and shot. All of our family had been murdered except for my cousin twice removed, a thirteen-year-old girl. She had been shot twice in the body but had been covered by other bodies so that she avoided being given the coup de grace by the officer in charge of the firing squad. She had managed to escape when it got dark and was found by partisans. She survived her wounds, but only just, and spent six months recovering. Now that the war was over, she had no one to look after her and her future in Poland looked bleak. The letter asked if my father would be prepared to offer her a home in England. Doing some quick mental arithmetic I reckoned she would be the same age as me. Dad was no fool and had contacted one or two government offices before deciding. It transpired that the government was prepared to help foreign relatives of British citizens who wished to emigrate. Assistance was available in terms of extra rations and paid support. "I would like to help her if you all agree," Dad asked. "Where would she sleep?" Joan asked. "I'm afraid you would have to share," Mum replied. Joan gave an exaggerated grimace of disapproval. She particularly liked the fact that she didn't have to share her bedroom. "But she does need our help and I'm sure she'll be good fun," Mum gave a winning smile. Joan nodded in acquiescence, when it came down to it she knew what was right. I didn't see any real difficulties. With both mum, dad and Simon working we lived comfortably within the post- war restrictions. The extra grant would help. And so it was agreed and Dad wrote a letter in reply. I found the whole affair very upsetting. We were aware that a lot of disgraceful things were done during the war but we had no conception of the atrocities described in the letter. *** Everything went quiet for the next few weeks and we all forgot about the matter until a second letter arrived. "She's arriving next Saturday," Dad announced. "She's coming on an RAF flight coming into an airfield near Luton." One of Dad's mates at work owned a car and offered to take him to the airfield to collect the girl. We all spent the week full of excited expectation. The girl's story and obvious bravery had captured my imagination and I looked forward to meeting her. Dad left early on the Saturday and mum and Joan spent the morning getting the bedroom ready. The room was quite small and the only easy way of fitting the two girls in was to replace the single bed with a double. "You girls will have to share a bed, I'm afraid," Mum told Joan. Joan pretended to mind but we knew that she was looking forward to sharing. For my part, I had the job of doing last minute shopping tasks. Mum had been working hard over the previous couple of weeks. She had scoured the local clothes shops to get together suitable new clothes for the girl. Although rationing was in force, it was surprising what a little persuasion could do to get extra things. All the shop owners knew Mum and liked her. When they heard about our guest they all wanted to help. Soon she had a good collection of underwear, skirts, dresses and sweaters. She also managed to find a good quality overcoat and two pairs of shoes. The day seemed to drag until finally a small black Ford car pulled up at the house. Dad got out of the car and helped our guest to the house. We were shocked at the sight of the girl. Her face was so pale as to appear almost white. She had long black hair which fell across her face. She wore a plain brown skirt and a faded blue woolen sweater. Her body was thin although her breasts looked full under her tight sweater. She paused at the door, looked up, gave a wan smile and said "hello" in strongly accented English. I'm sure you've all had those special moments in your lives, never to be forgotten and never repeated. That moment was one for me. The moment I saw her sad, pale face with it's green eyes, I knew I had met my life partner. OK, call me a soft bastard but I do believe in love at first sight. Her eyes caught mine and I was drawn into their burning intensity. Dad had lifted a small leather suitcase from the car and carried it to the house. It seemed sad that a person's entire possessions could be held in such a small suitcase. He introduced us and the girl replied in strongly accented English. She gave her name but Joan and I had great problems pronouncing it. She smiled as Joan struggled to repeat it. Her name sounded a little like Katerina but with some added unpronounceable bits. "I give up," Joan finally conceded, "Can I call you Kat?" Kat smiled. "Yes of course, but I will teach you how to speak Polish." Mum took Kat up to the bedroom and we left them to it. We knew that Mum would soon have her comfortable. "Her bullet wounds were in the stomach and although they've healed she still is in some pain." Dad explained. "The RAF doctor at Luton examined her. She's a little under weight but that was nothing that good food wouldn't cure. He said she'll be fine physically in a couple of months." He paused before adding in a serious tone, "Her mental health may take longer." Soon Mum came down alone. "I've shown Kat where her clothes are and she's having a lie down. The poor girl is exhausted. She needs feeding up." If anyone would help Kat gain weight I knew Mum would. Her cooking was fantastic. *** Our house had no garden as such. Dad had an allotment a short distance from the house where he grew vegetables. It was also my favourite place of seclusion where I could think through problems. It wasn't much, just a large wooden shed where he stored his tools and seed and a strip of land 30 yards long and ten yards wide. We had built a bench outside the hut and there was a spirit burner so that we could brew tea. During the few days after Kat's arrival I felt worried and confused in equal measure. I was worried whether Kat would adjust and manage to put the past behind her. I was confused with my feelings for her. Early one evening I walked up to the allotment and sat down in the sun to think. After a short time I heard female voices behind the hedge. I moved over to listen and realised that it was Joan and her best friend Ruth. "What's she like then. Come on, tell me." Ruth's squeaky voice was unmistakable. "I like her a lot but she's very quiet and sad." I heard Joan reply. "She has nasty dreams and sometimes I hear her crying at night. I give her a cuddle and she goes back to sleep." "Have you seen where the bullets went? Have you seen her undressed? What does it look like/" "Well, she's quite thin but she has nice big titties. I hope mine are like them when I grow up. She's quite hairy under her armpits and on her cunnie." "Uggh," Ruth interjected. "That's dirty." "No I don't think so," Joan retorted. "She always smells nice and clean. She smells of soap but with a nice other smell sort of like fresh cut grass." "What about the bullet holes?" "Oh they look like two big dents in her tummy. There is a sort of hole in her back where they must have come out. It's all healed up though." "What about her titties?" "Oh big and soft with large pink ends. They're not floppy at all." "How do you know they're soft?" "I feel them pressed against me when I give Kat a cuddle." "I wish my titties would start to grow," sighed Joan, "but I don't want a hairy cunnie. Uggh!" I sat both fascinated and excited. I felt a pang of jealousy for Joan wishing I could cuddle Kat and she her naked. I wanted to see and feel her body hair, smell her special scent, see and touch her wounds. I wanted her soft breasts pressed against my body. I crept away, not wanting to be caught listening. *** I think the first week following Kat's arrival was difficult for all of us. Kat seemed to settle but although she always replied to questions, conversations were difficult and stilted. Always she seemed to be shy or deferential and there was a constant, almost palpable, sense of sadness. Kat seemed to get on well with Joan but had difficulties when taking to myself or Simon. Mum took the lead in welcoming Kat. Her solution was plenty of mothering and good food. It seemed to work in that Kat was very much as ease with her. I felt that maybe Kat needed more and it became clear that mum agreed. She took me on one side one evening. "I think it might help if Kat met a few of your friends. Do you think she could join your little society?" It seemed a great idea and I suggested it to Kat the next evening. "Would you like to go for a walk?" I asked. She smiled shyly and paused. "Yes please," she finally replied. It was a pleasant warm evening and Kat took hold of my arm as we left the house. We didn't talk, I didn't need to. I just enjoyed the pleasure of feeling this lovely girl holding on to my arm. Since Shirley had joined the society, she had made it her goal to improve the quality of our hut. She had found curtains and a rug, making the interior tidy and comfortable. I had moved Joan's old single bed into the hut - Shirley slept there some nights when he father was too violent. She had also obtained a large amount of green paint and had painted the outside of the hut. As we approached the hut I asked Kat if she would like to see it and meet the society members. She agreed and we went in. Shirley, Derek and Pete were relaxing in the easy chairs. Pete leaped to his feet, bowed and pretended to doff his hat. "Ah, hello stranger, who is this stunning lady?" I introduced Kat and she looked a little startled at the warmth of their greeting. Shirley in particular gave her a big, long hug. "Kat, these are my closest friends." I told her. "I trust them in every way and I hope you will feel able to trust them as well. We are the members of the 'philosophical society' and this hut is our refuge from the world. We would be honoured if you would join us." Kat looked bemused, unsure what to say. Pete, ever the pragmatist rescued her from her dilemma. "Don't worry about that for now, do you drink beer?" he asked thrusting an opened bottle of pale ale into her hand. Kat grinned, nodded and took a drink. She settled down on the couch next to Shirley and I sat down opposite. The others resumed a noisy argument about football. Kat sat sipping her beer, trying to follow the rapid speech. Although her English was good, she found it difficult to follow if we spoke too quickly. I felt content to sit and watch Kat. Probably for the first time I looked really closely at her. Already her face had more colour and she seemed to have fleshed out a little. Kat's face could almost be described as elfin. Her pointed chin and clear complexion gave her face a certain fragility. Her green eyes glowed from below her black fringe. She wore a simple plaid skirt and a blue sweater. Her sweater hugged her chest revealing her marvellous breasts. The skirt had ridden up a little up her thighs allowing me a good view of her thin but shapely legs. With a shock I suddenly realised that Kat was staring back at me. Our eyes locked and then she gave a smile which rocked me to my boots. A smile of warmth and affection which made me believe for the first time that maybe she had feelings for me. My heart pounded and I felt my face flushed with emotion. "Henry, it's such a nice evening, I would like to walk some more." Kat's voice sent a shiver down my back. "We'll be right back guys," I announced. They were so busy arguing that no one replied. As we left Kat grabbed my arm again but this time it seemed much more tightly. "Can we go somewhere quiet so we can talk?" she asked. "Sure, let's got up to the allotment." There is something quite unique about English summer evenings - a profound tranquility. The sky was darkening to a violet-blue and the warm air was filled with the scent of flowers. We sat on the bench beside Dad's shed and looked across the valley. I didn't speak, there was no need to. We simply sat for a while in silence. "Why were you looking at me back in the hut?" Kat finally asked. I decided to come clean. "Because I think you're pretty." It sounded pretty lame but it was honest. "Oh from what I could see you were studying my chest I also got the impression that you were trying to look up my skirt," Kat replied with a mischievous grin. How the hell do you reply to a comment like that? Well I blushed - big time. "You're blushing," she shrieked with laughter. "I don't know why you wanted to look at my legs, Brygida always says that." Kat stopped laughing, her face creased with sorrow. Tears flooded her eyes and she began to sob. I didn't really know what to do other than to pull her head onto my shoulder. I held her tightly, making soothing noises and waiting for her agony to pass. As I held her close I noticed her hair had a scent rather like fresh cut grass. This had to be the scent that Joan had been talking about. I found the spell deeply attractive and redolent of the countryside - fresh and aromatic. Eventually Kat's sobbing subsided and she dried her eyes. "I'm sorry." she began. "Don't be. Who is Brygida?" "She was my sister and my best friend. I watched as a German soldier put a bullet through her skull. Why did she have to die when I live? She was so pretty. She was getting married in two months. They hung her fianc‚ from a street lamp with piano wire. They didn't deserve to die - they did nothing wrong." I feared that Kat would start crying again but instead she stared into space with a stricken look on her face. I'm a reasonably smart guy but I was getting out of my depth - this was getting pretty tricky. I needed to do something quick to help Kat out of the hole of depression and guilt she was in. "But you nearly did die!" I protested. "It was just luck, it could just have been the other way around with you dying and Brygida surviving." I was taking a chance hoping that I could somehow take the edge off her grief. She nodded - unconvinced. "Its right that you grieve Kat but you must also celebrate." She looked at me as though I was crazy. "Brygida and the others contributed to this world. It may not have been much but I'm sure that the world was a better place because of them. Those murderers could take their lives but couldn't erase what they did or meant. All the things they did or said live on inside you. Your memories keep them alive. You must celebrate their lives, tell me all about them. The good, the bad, everything." That was a pretty creative little speech but I had no idea what it would achieve. "Tell me about Brygida and your friends. What you used to do. Did you have a boyfriend?" Kat paused awhile, thinking and suddenly without reason began to giggle. "Let me tell you about the time that we went hunting for honey and Brygida fell in the river." This seemed to open the floodgates as Kat described life in her village. Her family. her friends. the dirty old pervert who flashed his cock at the women of the village. her boyfriend Zarek. Sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, she spoke for hours. I just listened, absorbing the joys and tragedies of life in a Polish village - sharing some of her burden. What tore at my soul most was the realisation that the village was no more - eradicated - "Ganz vernichtet" to quote the perpetrators of the crime. All of these people were now so much dust. "There you are!." Kat's discourse was interrupted as Dad walked through the gate. "Do you realise how late it is? Its after eleven." We had been so engrossed that I hadn't realised how dark it had become. I helped Kat to her feet, she seemed quite exhausted. "Come on Kat, time for bed." She hugged my arm tightly and whispered in my ear. "Thank you for listening." "No problem kid, we'll finish off another day if you want." She grinned and nodded. Dad hadn't been too worried when we hadn't come home. He had checked at the hut and guessed that we had gone to the allotment - he knew it was one of my favourite retreats. Fortunately I hadn't caused them much grief in the past and mum and dad trusted me. Kat went straight to bed when we got home and I settled down in the kitchen with mum and dad for a cup of tea. I explained what we had been doing and told them a little about what Kat had said. I could see that both of them had got a little moist eyed by the time I had finished. Dad puffed on his pipe, deep in thought. "I reckon you've probably found the best way of helping her my lad. You're not a daft as you look." He told me. "Now buzz off to bed." As I laid in bed I thought about all Kat had told me. I had felt privileged to share her thoughts and memories and over the coming months I would learn so much more. The knowledge that she had had a boyfriend gave me some concern. Would she ever get over his death? Could I ever replace him? I guessed the only way to find out would be to take it easy and not push things. She would let me know when she was ready. *** I got up a early the next morning. Although it was Saturday I had agreed to going with Simon to the engineering works and help him with a rush job he had. Not only would it mean some extra cash but it would also keep me in the good books of the managers. I met Joan as I walking going down stairs. "Henry! What have you done to Kat?" she hissed. My heart faltered, I had a feeling of doom. I followed Joan into her bedroom. "What's up?" I asked. "Well, for the first time since she's been hear, Kat slept the whole night without crying. I was weird, she wrapped her arms around me and slept soundly. Have you been misbehaving with her?" Joan was grinning showing an understanding beyond her years. "I wish," I replied without thinking. Joan looked surprised. "I knew it, you have a thing about her." In a mild panic I explained all that had happened the previous evening. I needed Joan to understand before she began spreading damaging rumours." "Yes, I do have a thing about her but its difficult." Probably for the first time ever Joan gave me a big hug. "I'm glad, big brother, you two are right for each other. Even an annoying little sister like me can see that. Don't worry, I'll keep schtum." Dad, mum, Simon and Kat were sat in the kitchen when I got down-stairs. For the three months that Kat had been with us we had been to concerned with helping her build up her strength helping her adjust to worry about her education. It was Kat who raised the issue that morning. "I think I should start in school," she announced. Dad had checked with the local school in advance and they were happy to take her when she was ready. Given that we were the same age, we would be in the same class. The local school wasn't big with no more than 100 kids between the age of 11 and 17. Most kids took a set of exams called 'matriculation' and then left school to work. Bright kids who wanted to get to university usually sat a scholarship exam. I had no real plans to go to university. If I got through my matriculation OK I would join the engineering works in the drawing office and go to evening classes. "Come on kid, we've got work to do," Simon reminded me. "So what were you two up to last night?" Simon asked as we walked the mile to the works. "Not you as well, Joan has already given me the third degree," I complained. I explained exactly what had happened the night before. "Well Kat was happier this morning than I've ever seen her. Nicely done my boy, you've learned your lessons well," Simon grinned. *** After tea that afternoon Kat grabbed my arm. "Come on," she commanded as she tugged me from the house. "Where are we going?" I asked. "To the allotment," she replied without any further elaboration. We sat on the bench outside Dad's hut. Kat sat beside me but after a moment she gave an impatient snort, lifted my arm around her and snuggled down with her head on my chest. "Do you always expect your girl friends to make the first move?" she asked. I admitted that I hadn't ever had a girl friend. Slightly nervously I also told her that with what had happened to Zarek I didn't expect that she would want a boyfriend. Kat looked up at me. "I know that Zarek is dead, I also know that he was very dear to me. That will never change. I also know that you are very dear to me too and that I must live with the living. Now are you going to kiss me or must I do that for you?" I couldn't refuse an instruction like that and remembering Simon's advice, I kissed her gently on the lips. So sweet, so soft, she felt and tasted wonderful. Kat breathed a heavy sigh and slipped her hand behind my head pushing he more firmly against her. Her lips opened slightly, her tongue probing gently into my mouth. Unconsciously I lifted my hand, putting it on her chest. For the first time I felt the warm softness of her breast. Kat gave a sigh of pleasure but pulled her head back. "Do you mind if we don't go further than kissing for now?" she asked. "I don't want us to rush." Did I mind? Surprisingly, I didn't. I was so delighted that Kat felt something for me, that was more than enough - although I did rather hanker to see her naked! "Not at all Kat," I replied. I went into the hut and brewed tea and we sat enjoying the dusk. "Tell me Kat, when I'm near you I notice a smell of cut grass. What is it?" I asked. "Henry, those are herbs," she replied, laughing. "One of the specialties of my village is the preparation of a perfumed lotion made from herbs. We would all gather herbs from our gardens and the woods and mix these with water and other ingredients to make a special lotion. The women used it as a perfume. Here..." Kat opened the top three buttons of her shirt and held it open, exposing the two globes of her breasts. "Smell between my breasts," she invited. I bent forward and sniffed her cleavage. The scent was subtle but heady, enhanced by her body heat. "Oh god, that's wonderful," I sighed. Kat laughed and buttoned her shirt. "That's why we made it. It always drives men mad." It felt odd being called a man - I felt about 10 feet tall. "Do you know that I've been crazy about you from the first time I met you," I admitted. "Yes, I saw the look in your eyes. I have to admit that I didn't feel the same then but my emotions were still raw. Over the past few months I have grown to feel the same. You can never replace Zarek but you are not the same as Zarek. I love you for different but equally important reasons. Can you accept that you can never be the only man in my life?" "Yes, I can." I replied. "I'm glad. You might be glad to know that you are the first man or boy that I have allowed to touch and smell my breasts." I didn't reply, I just gave her a hug. *** "So are you both going to the match tomorrow?" Derek asked as we walked home after school one Friday. "I don't know, do you want to go Kat?" I asked. "Why don't you piss of you Yid scum!" We were interrupted by a shout. It was Barry Peters, the local hard nut. When he was at school he was the school bully, kicking the shit out of any kid who wouldn't give him protection money. After leaving school he worked for the local rag and bone man - ideal employment for a brainless thug. Kat's face had gone white with shock and fear. "Ignore him," Pete advised. "He's an ignorant tosser." Barry crossed the road and stood in our way. "Are you deaf? What is this Yid doing in this country. She should have been shot like the rest of 'em." Derek gave a shout of rage and with a typically impetuous move threw himself at Barry. His fist smashed into his face bursting his nose like a ripe tomato. Barry ignored the pain from his damaged nose and knocking Derek to the ground and began punching him hard. Derek's head was hitting the path with sickening thuds. Pete and I charged Barry. I managed to kick him hard on the side of his head both stunning and knocking him off Derek. Pete and I jumped on him, feet first. In spite of his strength Barry couldn't resist the combined weight of the two of us, at least for the moment but it would only be a matter of time before he recovered. I began shouting, we needed help quickly. Doors in the street began opening and two neighbours, both burly men, ran out and grabbed Barry. Luck had it that the local constable was only a couple of streets away and he appeared, handcuffs ready. Derek was lying unconscious. His face was pale and his head was bleeding. The policeman quickly checked him and rushed to the police phone box at the corner of the street to call an ambulance. Kat was shivering with shock and I hustled her quickly to our house before getting Derek's parents. *** "It's not good," Dad told us with a heavy voice. "I've just spoken to Derek's dad at the hospital. Derek is deeply unconscious and they fear he might have brain damage. They're going to operate to check him out." It was late in the evening and we were sat in the kitchen. Kat had been sleeping upstairs but was stood at the door listening to dad. "It's all my fault," she spoke in a flat, quiet voice. Dad walked over and took her hand. "No it's not, lass. Barry Peters is the worst kind of scum who has caused trouble for many ordinary and innocent people. You were unlucky to be his latest target. Now there's no need to be defensive my girl, we need you to help." We were all a little surprised at the firmness of Dad's but he knew what he was doing. Kat nodded and smiled. "Sorry, papa, you're right. We should be worrying about Derek." "Derek's mum and dad are staying at the hospital so we need someone to stay with Sophie tonight." Dad continued. "Her Aunt is coming over tomorrow to look after her." "I can do that," Kat volunteered, "Sophie and I get on well." Sophie who had been sitting on mum's lap, gave a squeaky cheer and ran over to Kat and held her hand. Dad nodded in approval, "Good idea lass. You take Sophie and get her into bed." Kat slipped up to her room for her overnight things and left with Sophie. "Could you keep an eye on them, Henry?" dad asked me. I went next door and settled down in the living room. I turned on the radio and tuned into some big band music. With the warmth from the fire and the music I soon dozed off. *** Something, whether a subtle noise or something else, awoke me. The mantle clock showed that it was two in the morning. Kat was stood in the doorway, wearing her pyjamas. She was smiling as she unfastened the buttons on her top. Her pyjama top fell open, revealing her breasts. Kat slipped her pyjama top off walked over to me. Her breasts were breathtaking. Large and full but without any sag. They moved gently as she walked. Her nipples were large and had stiffened in the cool air. A tracery of blue veins were visible beneath her pale white skin. I could see the two dents in her stomach where the bullets had hit her. Kat climbed on my lap, facing me, with her legs either side of my body. Her crotch pressed against mine. Wrapping her arms around my neck she gave me the most amazing kiss. No holds barred, she kissed me with a passion I didn't imagine possible. I place my arms around her feeling the hot, smooth skin of her back. Half way down I felt the exit wound. Finally she pulled back, panting slightly, her face flushed. Her breasts were inches from my face, begging to be touched an kissed. Kat saw where I was staring. "Yes please," she whispered. I pressed my lips against her breast. I never imagined that flesh could be so soft. I took her nipple in my mouth and sucked gently. Her flesh stiffened in my mouth and Kat gave a quite sigh. She pushed against me, urging me to suck at her harder. "I want you to love me," she whispered. I pulled back, wanting to enjoy the sight of her body. I ran my hands over her belly and cupped her breasts. Kat's eyes were shut as she enjoyed my caresses. As I continued to move my hands up her body Kat lifted her arms exposing her hairy armpits. The sight of the heavy bushes of hair in contrast to her pale body was intoxicating. I ran my hands over the damp patches of hair relishing the intimacy of the moment. The thing I found most exciting was that for the first time in my life I was being invited to explore the most intimate parts of a woman's body. It's difficult to explain but I was being invited to experience something unique that no other man had done. Kat must have been psychic for she seemed to read my thoughts. "Yes, my love, you are the first to see me this way," she whispered. "And you will be the only one." I really wanted to fuck Kat but I hadn't come prepared. OK, you could say that I should have chanced it but that just wasn't my style. Simon had told me about what fun oral sex was so I reckoned we could still have fun. "Kat, I don't have any protection," I told her. "But I know something else we can do, OK?" I guessed that Kat was having too much fun to object, she just smiled and nodded. Gently I tipped Kat over onto the couch so that she lay on her back and eased her pyjama bottoms down. The crotch of her trousers were wet from her body. Only when she was fully naked could I fully appreciate Kat's waif-like slimness. Her lower belly was heavily hairy with a thin track of black hairs leading up towards her navel. I stroked her thighs and eased then apart before running my hand over her hidden slit. Her pubic hair was wet from her excitement. Kat shivered as my hand brushed across her lower lips. Following Simon's advice I leant forward and kissed over Kat's clit. She gasped and pressed my head against her, mutely begging for more. Kat had a strong, musky smell - not dirty but very, very exciting. I slid my tongue into her slit, tasting her salty juices. I felt her clit between my lips, firm and erect. Kat began bucking her hips so I gave up any attempt of control, licking and sucking where-ever her hands and thrusts guided me. She began to moan and whimper in Polish. I didn't need to understand it but I could guess what she was saying and feeling. Kat came which a huge gasp, wrapping her legs around my head and crushing my mouth against her. It was an incredible feeling to realise that I had inflicted so much pleasure on her - somehow almost humbling. Kat relaxed and lay back, breathing deeply. Her face, neck, upper chest and breasts were flushed deep pink. Her eyes were closed and she had a small smile on her face. "You look like the cat that's eaten the cream," I joked. "Better than that," she replied, "that was wonderful. I love you Henry." "Kat!! Is anything wrong?" We were interrupted by Sophie calling from upstairs. "I heard you cry, have you hurt yourself?" We giggled as Kat quickly pulled on her pyjamas. "It's OK, Sophie, I came for a drink and stubbed my toe." Kat called back and went upstairs. "I better go upstairs," she told me. "Sorry we can't continue." She stopped and kissed me. My face was still wet from her juices and she stopped with a smile. "Is that all me?" she grinned, "sorry but you got me a little excited. See you later." My cock was still stiff and aching but it didn't matter too much - my time would come. I settled down in the chair and fell asleep. *** Although there was school the next day, neither Kat nor I went in. To be frank, we were too tired and worried about Derek to be bothered with school. We gathered the next morning in the kitchen for breakfast. Kat had a certain enigmatic radiance which only I could appreciate. She sat across the table from me at breakfast giving me shy looks from time to time. Sophie's Aunt arrived at around nine o clock leaving one less job for Kat. Dad came in a little later and took me on one side. "I've spoken to Derek's dad at the hospital. Surgery went well and Derek is doing well. It's now just a case of waiting until he recovers consciousness. Look Henry, it's a nice day, why don't you take Kat on a picnic to the river. It will take her mind off things. There's nothing either of you can do so you might as well enjoy the day." "Fine, dada, that will be nice," I replied. "Sitting at the side of the river Lea was almost top of my list of fun things to do." Mum sorted out some sandwiches and dad slipped a few bottles of beer with them into a rucksack. "You two deserve a nice quiet day, go enjoy yourselves." I slipped upstairs and tapped on the door to Kat's room. "Hey, Kat, get ready, we're off for a day in the country," I told her. She didn't need telling twice. I then raided Simon's stash of rubbers - I wasn't going to be unprepared again. The journey out to the river Lea took some time. We first caught the underground out to Walthamstowe and then the bus to Waltham Abbey. It was then just a walk of a mile or so to the river. In those days the river Lea was still well in the countryside - London and the M25 hadn't expanded to turn the area into a dormitory for commuters. Kat was delighted by the journey. She had never been on an underground train and, as a girl from the country side, she loved the bus journey through the green fields. We settled down at a secluded spot on the river bank surrounded by a wooded copse. I had brought my rod to try a little fishing and I knew that this was an ideal spot. "What's that place over the river?" Kat asked, pointing at fenced area of fields and woodland with strange wooden buildings hidden behind earth mounds. I explained that it was a government explosives site which had been one of the first gunpowder factories in the country. She seemed bemused that something so violent could be made in such a peaceful place. I put the bottles in my catch net to cool in the water and I gave Kat her first fishing lesson. The day was idyllic. The sun shone from a cloudless sky making it a perfect summer day. We caught no fish but it really didn't matter. We lay on the back chatting in that special intimate way that good friends or lovers do. The warmth, food and beer soon made me drowsy and I drifted off to sleep. I was awoken by the lightest of touches on my chest - the gentle unfastening of buttons. I pretended to remain asleep. Slowly my shirt was opened and pulled from my trousers, exposing my chest. The same gentle touch moved to my trousers opening my belt and fly buttons. My trousers were opened and eased down to my mid-thighs. It was taking all my self control to stay still. Then came the lightest pressure of lips on my stomach - coupled with light warm breath blow from Kat's nose. Slowly she worked across my chest to my nipples where she gently licked and sucked. My cock was hugely stiff and pushed against my pants. Kat noticed it and slid her hand inside and held my cock. I opened my eyes. "What do you think you're doing, young lady?" I asked rhetorically. Kat kissed me. "Shut up and enjoy," she whispered. With a shock I realised that she was nude. The slight breeze had chilled her nipples making them tight and erect. She shivered with pleasure was I brushed a hand across them. "Did you come prepared this time?" she asked. I nodded, my dry throat making it difficult to speak. "Well prepare yourself," she told me as she pulled my trousers and pants off. I fumbled in the rucksack and found a Johnny. Kat had turned her attention to my cock and balls, kissing and licking every last inch. I had never known such a sensation. Having a wank is pretty enjoyable but having a gorgeous woman kiss and suck your tackle is out of this bloody world. I ripped open the packet and pulled out the Johnny. In a matter of seconds it was unrolled smoothly over my cock. Kat slid up my body and kissed me. Her breasts rubbed across my chest sending a tingle of pleasure through me. For me the greatest pleasure is the feeling of a full, warm, naked pair of breasts pressed against my naked chest - utter bliss. Kat's legs were astride me and I felt her ease my cock into her slit. Kat lifted her head from me giving me a full view of her face as she pushed herself onto me. I felt my cock ease into the warmest, tightest hole imaginable and then stop as it hit a barrier. Kat felt the obstruction too and pushed down harder. Nothing happened and she winced with pain. I knew enough to realise that her hymen was reluctant to tear. Kat gave what sounded like a curse in Polish. I saw a look of determination cross her face and she then pushed down hard. I felt a tearing sensation followed by deep pleasure as my cock was buried completely inside her. I saw a flash of relief and pleasure flood across Kat's face. She sat back making sure I was fully inside her. "Now you really are my man," she said in triumph. Kat began to shift her lower body, back and forth, allowing my cock so slide in and out. She was so tight that I knew I wouldn't last long - Kat realised it too. "You gave me pleasure last night, this time is for you. Later, when we do it again, we will do it more slowly and we will come together," she smiled. I was in no condition to argue as I was already coming. The tightness of her cunt and the Johnny combined to increase the sensation as my gism flooded out. Kat's face was a picture as see saw my reaction and felt the pulsing of my cock. "I feel you, throbbing inside." she gasped, trying to vocalise the sensations she was feeling. She gave up, resorting to Polish to express her emotions, before leaning over and kissing me all over my face. Kat insisted on removing the full Johnny from my cock. She seemed fascinated with the white juice held captive in the rubber. "One day you will fill me with this stuff, not a rubber sock." And I did, many. many. times. *** Well many years have passed since those days. Naturally Kat and I married and we had identical twin daughters who inherited her dark hair, green eyes and elfin looks. These features have been passed down, undiluted, to my grand-daughters. Every time I see any of them now the memories and feelings flood back. I worked at the engineering works for ten years before setting up as a consultant to a charity providing aid to under- developed countries. Kat became a doctor. Kat had never forgotten the past and chose to apply her medical talents to the third world. We spent most of our lives in Africa applying our skills to helping the poor and deprived. Dad died when he was knocked off his bike early on morning by a hit and run driver - they never caught the bastard. Mum lived in our old house until she died in 1968. I offered to buy her a small flat but she refused saying that she wanted to die in the house in which she lived. Simon rose to the top of the engineering company and became Managing Director. He married his blonde typist and they had five daughters. Joan became a journalist and has had a couple of historical novels published. It came as no surprise to anyone when Pete married Shirley. Pete lived up to his intellect by become a Professor of philosophy and politics as Cambridge. As for Derek, he recovered from his injuries completely and he subsequently joined the police. Any sniggers of derision were soon silenced when he rose to become the youngest Chief Superintendent in the Metropolitan police. In all we were all pretty successful in our own ways. I often think about Kat and the way she was. I like to see her as a bit of a hero. The way she overcame the loss of all she knew and loved. The way she recovered from her injuries. The way she built a new life. OK, you might say that anyone can get over a nasty injury but most people would just roll over and creep into a corner to die when their world collapses. It takes real courage to take a grip on life and move on. Sure, even in her old age she remembered her past - I would have been amazed if she hadn't. She never forgot or stopped loving Brygida or Zarek but she was content to hold and nurture them inside her heart. We went back to Poland several times to visit the stark memorial which listed the names of the villagers. The village was never re-settled, remaining as an empty reminder to the horror that men do. It has been ten years since cancer took my Kat away. On the day of Kat's funeral I sat with my daughters and told her story, just as I have now. We had never mentioned Kat's past before but I felt they needed to really known their mother completely. I wasn't sure what to expect but my girls were strangely quiet once I had finished. They simply kissed me and left. They came and saw me a week later. They explained that they needed time to ponder on Kat's story. They admitted that they sat for hours, thinking and talking and admitted that there had been some tears. They were grateful that I had shared Kat's story with them and they explained how their one overwhelming emotion was a fierce pride at the courage their mother had shown in dealing with the tragedy of her early life and the dignity with which she conducted herself. Somehow I feel that that courage lives on within them and gives them strength. *** My girls now have their own lives and apart from visits from my grandchildren I am left with my herbs. Each time I smell the basil, Kat is in the room. A touch of the parsley reminds me of her wonderful hair. Mint reminds me of those heavenly breasts. So long as I have my herbs my Kat will always be here. Johannesburg, March 2002 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the hands of children. They should be outside playing in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 24