1945 I

A young man finally returns home to his beautiful wife after the war and their reunion is passionate.

You could only imagine the unbearable relief when my eyes scan the letter. "Dear Mrs Wallace. Regret to inform you that your husband, Joseph. A Gorey was injured during service. Is recuperating in a hospital in France. He will be dismissed from service as soon as he recovers." My frail body collapses and our sofa breaks my fall. The letter is still in my hand and I clutch it tighter. I haven't heard from him in about two months now and a piece of news as such is the best I have heard in my life. A few minutes is taken to regain composure and when I feel steady enough, I go up to our bedroom and put the letter away in a tin box that used to carry cookies. More letters spring out like a weak jack-in-the-box when I lift the lid - well, there goes another letter to add to the collection. The tin box goes back in the drawer of my bedside table and I sit on the edge of the bed for a few moments to take in everything. He's coming home. Joseph is coming home! My head turns to look at a framed photograph of us on our wedding day - just three months before he was called to serve in the Army. We had not had time to even plan our future; those three months were a whirlwind of sex, love and bliss. We had not thought of children yet, we had not thought of the Adult Responsibilities that go into raising the perfect family. Besides, how many children could our house take? Do we have to move to a more upscale neighbourhood for the kids? There is only so much a magazine illustrator and a kindergarten teacher could make. How many children are we talking about anyway? 2? 3? More? As soon as he comes home, we will finally have time to figure out our future �" the future we delayed for a year and a half because of the war.

 

The big day arrives and I am in a white dress with poppies decorating the skirt. Orange-red shoes cover my feet and I spend about an hour in front of the mirror, making sure that I look my best for when he comes home. A dab of perfume here; my long black hair brushed until they shine and curl nicely at the ends. In his most recent letter, he won't be arriving until 5PM but I stand at our front gate by 3PM anyway. Maybe he will be back earlier, maybe not - whatever it is, I want to be there when he does. The wait begins and during those long, drawn-out hours, I play with my hair nervously. I collect it all and have it fall over one shoulder while my fingers twirl and pluck out nay split-ends impatiently. The elderly neighbour hobbles home from her daily game of bingo and greets me cheerfully.

 

"Is today the day, love?"

 

"Yes it is, Mrs Brighton."

 

Mrs Brighton smiles sweetly and retreats into the cool darkness of her home and the warm care of her husband. Each time I hear a car turn into our street, I jump to attention only to be disappointed as it zooms past our house. A black car, a sky blue car, a cherry red car go past my house and into their own. The wait soon stretches from two hours to three, then three-and-a-half when yet the sound of tires crunching the gravel starts up once again. This time, though, it stops outside our house. My heart pounds and I suddenly feel light-headed. From outside, I can hear muffled cheers and whoops and for a moment, a look of confusion flash across my face. The door opens and a polished black shoe steps out, followed by another, followed by a man. 

 

I feel like I have fallen in love all over again.

 

He stands proudly at six feet in a green uniform with a couple of medals and stripes decorating his breast that announce his bravery and service to his country. A cap sits on his head at a jaunty angle. Those same kissable lips, grey-green eyes behind the large spectacles, mussed brown hair, skinny physique. When he takes a step forward, his face flinches from the sharp pain in his leg and my heart drops. Another step indicates that he had come home with a limp. From the inability to wait anymore and to save him the pain of moving so much, I rush forward and into his arms. The uniform smells crisp and clean along with cheap scented soap on his skin. I inhale deeply the scent I've missed for so long as I bury my face in his shoulder. His hands run through my hair and grasp the back of my head close to his heart. The steady sound of life sounded against my ear and I feel even more relief than when I received the news of his injury. His army buddies helped unload his things and set them down on our front porch for us as we continued our embrace. Joseph pulls me away from him and lifts my chin up with a thumb and a forefinger. His thumb rubs my chin gently as we gaze into each other's eyes before he murmured, "God, I missed you, lovely." The tender grip on my chin pulls me in for a kiss and just before I close my eyes, I see him stretch his arm out and then aim a middle finger at his friends as they cheer for their friend's good fortune to be home with his wife. He breaks the kiss and takes my hand in his, lifting it up so that he can kiss every knuckle and press his lips against the back of my hand.

 

"See you, boys," he grins at his friends.

 

They nod and salute my husband, "Yeah, we'll see you this weekend at Sal's? Or will you be too busy catching up with your wife?"

 

"I may pass."

 

They cackle appreciatively, lift their heads and nod respectfully at my direction. "Mrs Gorey, it was a real pleasure to see you finally."

 

"No, boys. It was a real pleasure to see you deliver my husband home safe and sound," I reply, my arms around his waist with his arm over my shoulder.

 

Finally, they leave and disappear around the corner. We watch the car grow smaller and smaller before turning and get swallowed up completely by another street before turning around to walk back. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful. Everything is in place. Every few steps or so, he limps a little but I hold him steady, asking him to rest as much of his weight on me. I pick up his green duffel bag and upon entering the house, set it aside before closing the door. "Come here," I murmur, holding his hand and helping him up the stairs and into our bedroom. Nothing is said between us - as if everything is instinctive. In the middle of our bedroom, I take his cap off and put it aside on the dresser.

 

Then I start work on his uniform.

 

First, the jacket unbuttons underneath my quick, eager fingers, followed by a brown dress shirt. His hands are on my hips as my fingers work downwards, only letting go so that I can pull his shirt off of his arms. Silver dogtags hang around his neck and rest against his chest - I lean in a little to kiss the dog tags. Slender hands help him sit on the edge of the bed and I kneel down in front of him. Instinctively, he opens his legs but I hold them close. "No?" he chuckles, curious as to why I held them close. My head tilts down so that I look at his feet and can help him untie his shoes and help him out of the brown footwear. Left foot, right foot. Left sock, right sock. When I'm done, I instruct him to lean back against the headboard. He slowly pushes himself back, never taking his eyes off my dark brown orbs just as I never took my eyes off his green-grey ones. With my gaze fixed on him, I reach to the back to pull the ribbon that holds my dress around my figure, then slowly unbutton my dress beginning from the top button. I don't unbutton my dress halfway before pushing it down my shoulders and step out of it - no - I get to the very last button so that I can watch his expression. He bites his lower lip but does not move yet. Thin arms reach out, grasp the openings of my dress  and push it back over my shoulders and down my body. The dress falls to the floor around my feet, making it look like I'm standing in a small puddle of white and red water. I bend over to unbuckle the straps of my shoes that hug my feet and step out of them, effectively making me a good five inches shorter. 

 

Already I can see his hand reach down for his crotch, rubbing it tentatively at first to relieve some pressure in his stiffening member. Arms go to the back once more but this time to unhook the clasp on my bra. Shoulders shrug off the undergarment and it falls to the floor, exposing my small but pert breasts. A sharp inhale by him was all I needed to hear for me to push my panties over my hips and down to the floor. "Come closer," he orders and I rest a knee against the edge of the bed before pulling the rest of my body up. My other knee moves forward with my hands extending before me. I can see him rubbing his crotch harder and harder now and I move in closer until our noses are only an inch apart. He reaches out to splay his fingers across my cheek and rubs the skin gently, his thumb running over my lips.

 

"I love you," I quietly say.

 

There were more details to take in this time: the scar above his eyebrow from flying shrapnel; the bruise underneath his right eye; a weathered and beaten look in his eyes but with the same spark from when he left. I suddenly realise I miss him just as much as he misses me. I miss the way he picks me up as if I weigh nothing at all. I miss the way he doodles absent-mindedly over his magazines while waiting for me to finish dressing. I miss the way he watches me get ready for work while laying in bed. I miss him.

 

"Oh, kitten."

Author's Note

There may be some historical inaccuracies from the year it was set in. Also, any and all comments on how I can improve my writing is very much appreciated!