London, 1945
My attention is drawn to the laughing group of pub patrons as they stumble out of the front door. A couple that lags behind the crowd pauses in the doorway. The young soldier takes his female companion in his arms and dips her back as he presses his lips to hers in a heated kiss. As he rights her I can see that her cheeks are flushed from their very public exchange. She stands on her tiptoes and places a playful kiss on his cheek before taking his hand. The two rush out to catch up with the others and continue their homecoming celebration elsewhere.
I glance around the dimly lit room to find that other than the resident drunk, Pete, I'm the only customer left. Shifting forward on my bar stool I cross my legs and smooth out the skirt of my favorite red dress. With a sigh I look down the amber liquid in my glass that went stale hours ago.
"Looks as if your mysterious soldier missed the train again, eh, Elsie," Sam the bartender says as he wipes down the counter tops.
"He'll show up, eventually," I say with forced indifference as I run my hand over my brunette curls and check that my hair pins are still in place. It took me hours to get my appearance just the way I wanted. I worked vigorously to ensure that the black liner around my blue eyes had precise winged tips and that the shade of red lipstick I chose complemented my complexion. The outcome of the evening may be outside of my control but I still want to look my best.
Sam comes to stand in front of me on the other side of the bar, takes my drink and replaces it with a tumbler of ice and rum. "A young woman like you shouldn't be spending every Tuesday night alone in a pub. You've caught the attention of several of the lads returning home from the war and you've turned them all down."
"I'm only here for one person, therefore there is no sense in wasting my time with anyone else," I smile before taking a sip of my new drink.
"It's no use, Sam. She'll be back in that bar stool next week and the week after that. I'm starting to believe she is crazier than me," Pete slurs from his seat in the far corner.
"Be nice to the lass you bloody drunk or I'll be kicking your arse out of me pub," Sam scolds.
I can hardly be mad at Pete after all he does have a point. For the past two months I've returned to this pub by the train station every Tuesday. I always sit in this exact same seat and hope that a soldier that I've never met face to face will walk through the doors. I don't have the faintest idea what he looks like but I've had a very clear glimpse of his heart.
Over a year ago my best friend talked me into writing an encouraging letter to a soldiers fighting in the war. The note was fairly generic since I didn't know the man that would randomly receive it and I didn't think anything would come of it. A month later I was surprised to find an envelope in my mailbox addressed to me, it was a response. My letter had made its way into the hands of a young man from Cheshire, named Harry. He expressed how reading my words had felt like the tiniest ray of light in his dark situation. After learning how I had affected him, I had to keep writing and that was the beginning of our ongoing correspondence.
As time sauntered on our letters became more in depth. I learned about the things he missed back home, his friends and his family. He began describing to me his love for art and music and how he wanted to build a future based on those passions. He also dedicated potions of the letters to the growing connection he felt between us. I was quick to confess that I was feeling the same and that is what led to our plans to meet. We promised that the day he returned to England that we would have our first encounter at this very pub. I've kept my word and for the past eight weeks since the war ended I've been patiently awaiting his arrival.
Perhaps I'm completely pathetic to be wasting my time on a man I scarcely know and have never seen. Harry could have easily changed his mind about meeting me and continued his journey home. It also does not bode well for me that I've not communicated with him since before the war was declared over. The last letter that I sent to him has gone unanswered and the possibilities for his failure to reply are heart wrenching to consider. I won't think the worst; I must believe that he will return safely and that our story will happily unfold as we planned.
Giving into the reality that tonight is not destined to be the night that Harry and I cross paths, I finish my drink in one long swig. I place more than enough money to cover my tab under the empty glass and then gather my belongings.
"I'll see you next Tuesday, Sam," I announce as I secure the belt of my coat around my waist.
Drying the glass mugs lined along the counter he says, "Have a good night, Elsie, and be careful walking home."
As I take my first step to leave I'm abruptly halted by the appearance of a tall figure entering the pub. Like the other returning soldiers he wears the customary brown suit that makes up the military dress uniform and carries a large duffle bag. Before clearing the doorway he removes his hat revealing a head of unruly brown curls and places it under his arm. In his left hand is a black wooden cane that he uses for support as he limps to the nearest barstool and sits down.
Mindlessly I sink back onto my seat and observe the soldier as he places his order with Sam. His journey home was not an easy one, he is covered in a light coating of dust and his posture is slouched with exhaustion. Impatiently he flexes the muscles of his sharp jawline as he watches his drink being prepared. His pulls his lower lip between his index finger and thumb in what appears to be a senseless habit. He has the most mesmerizing crystal clear green eyes and my breath hitches in my throat as they fall upon me. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at being caught staring and in reply he flashes me a lopsided grin that creates the most perfect dimple on his left cheek.
I'm intrigued by the handsome stranger. Unlike many of the other soldiers he has bypassed the fanfare that accrued earlier in the evening as they arrived home. He could have easily found companionship with one of the girls that troll the area for potential husbands, but instead he has opted for a quiet drink in an empty pub. It almost does not seem right that he should sit alone on such an evening.
I rise from my stool and approach him, "Do you mind if I join you?"
"Not at all," he says in a deep voice as he lifts the glass in his hand at the barstool beside to him.
Without needing to be prompted Sam sets a club soda with a slice of lime down before me. I flash him a quick nod of gratitude before turning my attention back to the soldier.
"Shouldn't you be out celebrating," I ask lightheartedly.
At first he does not reply but gazes down with furrowed brows at his drink. The strained expression on his face speaks of the internal battle raging on inside of him. His tone is riddled with self-doubt, "I had it all planned out. I even daydreamed about it on the train but as soon as I stepped onto the station platform I couldn't bring myself to do it."
A dull ache fills my chest. This is a man that has undoubtedly outsmarted death within war, yet seems to be crippled by a lack of confidence.
He forges on with his explanation, "My only reprieve in this bloody war has been a stack of letters from an amazing girl. I felt as if I was stumbling in the dark and then she casted the smallest sliver of light and I have been hanging on to it with everything I have. A girl like her deserves better than a broken man with nothing to offer. Everything I own fits in that duffle bag," he points to the canvas sack on the floor. "I used to have two functioning legs and be able to sleep through the night without waking in a cold sweat from night terrors."
I swallow the lump in my throat and say, "You were supposed to meet her here weren't you?"
He drops his head into the palm of his hand and his long fingers tangle in his hair, "I was, but just look at me."
"I see you, Harry," I gently declare as I rest my hand on his arm
His eyes widen in surprise and his hand covers mine, "Elsie?"
I struggle to keep the tears from escaping and trailing down my face. "Yes," I nod.
"How did you know I would arrive today?"
"I didn't. I've waited for you since the war ended. I promised you I'd be here."
His callused thumb brushes over my cheek and captures a rouge tear. "Elsie, I'm so sorry I left you waiting."
I brightly smile up at him, "Make it up to me by talking to me about your journey home. It's nice to finally hear your voice."
A shy lopsided grin washes over his face and I'm graced with the appearance of that charming dimple once more. He recounts the story of how he was injured during his final days in Germany. A bullet had shattered the bone just below his knee and he had spent several weeks undergoing surgeries and recovering in a triage center. As tragic as the story is Harry tells it with humor and I find myself laughing so hard that my stomach aches. We carry on with our conversation until Sam informs us that it is closing time, in which Harry insists on walking me to my flat a few blocks away.
By the time we reach my door I'm a conflicting bunch of nerves. I want nothing more than for him to kiss me goodnight, and yet that will be the end of our evening and I'm not ready to say good-bye. With a bravery I never knew I possessed I close the distance between us. I grip the lapel of his suit jacket and pull him down to me until I can press my lips to his.
The kiss is sweet, with his soft lips giving into mine. It causes my skin to rise into thousands of tiny goose bumps. Driven by a craving to taste him I gently pull at his lip and slide my tongue over the soft surface. I'm consumed by a heady mixture of beer, mint and something that I can only describe as Harry. I'm immediately addicted and want more, but we are still standing outside my apartment. I force myself to pull away from him and it is one of the most difficult things to do.
My eyes flutter open to find him studying me with an intense gaze. The bright green of his eyes has darkened and the pain and insecurity that were present when we first met have been replaced with desire. I'm resolute that they never return and tarnish the beautiful man before me, and with that I rush to unlock my door.
Once inside I drop my purse to the floor and work quickly to remove my jacket. Harry's nimble hands join mine and slide the thick wool fabric off of my shoulders. With two swift steps he has my body pinned between his and the door. His lips franticly find mine and his tongue coaxes my mouth to open for him. I discard the hat from his head and comb my fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, holding him closer to me.
I shiver as I feel his hands travel up from my waist and his thumbs brush the underside of my breasts. Uncontrollably I moan and it is all the encouragement that he needs. He focuses his attention to the tiny buttons on the front of my dress. His face is buried in my neck as he sucks and bites at the sensitive flesh. I let go of his hair and work at unfastening the belt on the outside of his jacket. As it hits the floor with a metal clank I move on to releasing the buttons of his jacket and then his dress shirt. His mouth makes it difficult to concentrate and it is not until I pull his undershirt over his head that I am able to surrender to the sensations he is creating with his hands and mouth. He trails down my neck to my collar bone and then over the swell of my breasts. His hands are driving me crazy as they tease my nipples through the fabric of my bra. When he takes the peak of my breast into his mouth my legs give out under me. I grip his bare shoulders as his long fingers encircle my ribcage to steady me from falling to the floor.
Unable to take it any longer I grip his hair and pull him back up my body. His hands move under my skirt and I mentally beg him to touch me in the place that I ache to feel him the most. He does not comply but instead lifts me off of my feet and wraps my legs around his waist. As he presses me back into the door I feel his hard cock press against my aching core. My head falls back and I move my hips trying to create the friction I so desperately need.
"Elsie, baby," he urgently moans.
The sound of him calling me baby can bend me to his every will, but he wants me to tell him what I want. I remove my legs from around him and take his hand in mine. I walk slowly and carefully as to not trip him up without his cane and lead him to my small bedroom. I leave him standing in the middle of the room as I undress for him. My eyes remain on him searing into my memory the way he looks the first time he sees my body.
Completely naked I kneel before him running my hands over the hills and valleys formed by his lean muscles. I release his hard cock and marvel at the feel of its smooth skin in my hands before worshiping it with my mouth. As his fists my hair setting the pace, I revel in the feeling of him controlling me. The salty taste of his skin drives me mad and I know I can be content for the rest of the night bringing him to his release, but that's not what he wants.
"Not like this," he says stepping away from me with labored breaths. "Lie down on the bed for me, love."
Without hesitation I do as he asks and offer him my body. Starting at my feet he moves his hands slowly upward. As his fingers inch closer to my center I anticipate the feeling of my release but his hands glide over my hips instead. They slide behind me and lift my lower body to his lips. My senses go wild has he drags his tongue through my folds and then nips and suck at my core. Just as my body tenses before giving into an astronomical climax he pulls away.
I sigh in frustration and he responds with his lopsided grin, but instead of boyish charms it projected before it is saturated with pure lust. He leaves a trail of kisses as he moves over me.
His lips brush against mine as he says, "I could get lost in you, Elsie."
"I'm yours, even if it's just for tonight."
He shakes his head in disbelief before deepening our kiss as he gently eases himself inside of me. My back arches off of the mattress increasing the depth of each deliciously slow stroke. Taking both of my hands he intertwines our fingers as he holds himself over me. I study the perfection of his face, his green eyes and his lips that are held between his teeth. My body clings to his as it is coaxed closer to release. My voice moaning his name and his grunts resound in my ears as we surrender to utter bliss.
Harry rolls to his side and pulls me tightly to him. I let my fingertips graze over the features of his face and his shoulders and I try to memorize the feel of his heated skin. Resting my head on his chest I listen to the steady beat of his heart; each pulse begs for acceptance of his imperfections. I say a silent prayer that I will be enough to heal his brokenness and vow to be the stability and love he deserves.
Settling into the cradle of his arms I let his warmth cover me. I place a kiss on his chest and whisper, "Welcome home."