Escape from Hell

* * *

"Gwen, I've had a letter from Agnes. One of the boys has read it to me already."

"Oh aye, has she been able to get travel yet then?"

"Yes, it looks like she'll be able to come down on Saturday."

"That'll be lovely then, we'll have to spruce you up, get you a haircut. You'll be wanting to look your best for her."

She had misread his mood somewhat. "I don't know, she won't want me now. What use am I? No legs, can't see, hands might be gone." The letter had reminded him of his prospects and he had become despondent once more.

"Don't be thinking like that now. She has you. That's all she needs right now, I bet she'll be jumping up and down thinking about it."

However the next day Walter was still down, "Gwen, what happens if I'm no good for her. I'll have to let her go of course."

"What in the world do you mean, 'no good for her'. Why do you think she's coming? To see you of course. That's all she needs."

"She has needs, I might not be able to satisfy her. I just don't know. I'll have to let her make a life with someone who can give her children and a wage packet."

Gwen paused, "What do you know of her personal needs? She needs a husband..."

"Precisely - a husband. She's never had babies, we used to talk about having them. Now I might not be able."

"Oh yes you will, just wait and see."

Walter wasn't sure. He raised his bandaged hands, "It's been a long time, what with the bromide in the tea I'm not even sure."

He alluded to the common rumour amongst the soldiers that chemicals were added to the army tea to subdue any sexual desires. Any truth of this was regularly denied by the government but the men remained firmly convinced.

Gwen moved in closer. During their period together she had gained a real affection for him and now his concerns affected her as well.

"Listen to me now, the blast took away your legs that's all. You're still enough of a man to keep a woman satisfied."

"And half of me as a man. Don't forget that part."

* * *

That afternoon Gwen prepared the patient for the outside. On any fine day this was expected for the recuperative properties of fresh air; part of the semi-military routine. Walter was lifted into a wheelchair and she pushed him into the garden and across the lawns. She found a spot with a view across the valley and positioned Walter next to a bench where she could sit next to him. Not that he could see the distant hillsides of course but there was woodland surrounding them which gave some privacy.

"Do you want to test your functions?" she asked quietly.

He was confused at first; the doctor had already done his round that morning and he'd been examined regularly with test after test. Blood, urine, eyesight, the lot.

Observing his bewilderment, Gwen moved forwards on her seat to give her a better reach. Then she slid her hand underneath the blanket across his stumps.

He tensed as her hand touched his skin under the cover and found him. Her fingers enclosed his limp flesh and held it steadily.

He had felt her touch before, of course. She had placed his penis into a bottle for him to urinate, she had bathed him with damp cloths, wiping his most intimate of places. This was different, this was the gentle caress of a woman not the impersonal touch of a clinician.

Then she started to move her fingertips, palpating and squeezing. Shortly his body responded and soon she had a handful of firm swollen manhood.

She started to use her whole hand and Walter realised that even if the army did supply medicated tea leaves, there were times that nature would inevitably succeed.

It didn't take long. For many months his body had been pent up waiting for this moment and now the warm grasp of this lady was exactly what he needed. He exploded into her hand, expelling himself in repeated waves.

The nurse withdrew her hand and saw the fluids upon it. She reached down and wiped her fingers clean on a convenient bunch of weeds. Walter had slumped back, breathing heavily "Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you, thank you."

They sat silently for a period, then she slowly pushed the wheelchair back to the encampment.

On Saturday as promised, Walter had a haircut. Gwen shaved him with extra care and dressed him in a freshly pressed hospital uniform. It was a fine summers day and he was wheeled out onto the verandah of the house to await his visit from his wife.

* * *

Chapter 4

Agnes had lived in the same small dark two-bedroom house in the same dark dingy industrial town all her life. She attended the local school, leaving on the earliest possible date. She was immediately found a job in a vast cotton mill alongside all the other girls that she had grown up with.

Through her adolescence she had had several fumbles with local youths. Unpleasant incidents in secluded alleyways; hands up her dress and down her blouse, feeling her privates. She had allowed such incidents, even put her hands down the front of the lad's trousers to feel his warm sweaty erection and joined in the boasting afterwards with her female friends.

She didn't really enjoy the experiences though; a slobbering mouth pressed to hers and rough fingers trying to penetrate her body; it was yucky.

Her parents had warned her endlessly of the disgrace that came from pregnancy out of wedlock and stories circulated of girls who had found themselves in the 'family way' being taken away by nuns and placed in asylums. The prospect was rather frightening.

* * *

Every month the insurance man came to collect his pennies for the life insurance. They all had policies so that their funerals would not be a burden on those left behind. The old insurance man stopped coming eventually; his own family were now collecting on his policy. His replacement was a nervous young lad who took over the old man's leather cash satchel and continued collecting the premiums in his place.

The new collector was good looking, Agnes thought. Dark curly unruly hair, she didn't meet many suitors that she liked and found herself awaiting his calls with the money ready from the jar on the mantelpiece over the fire where all the bills were allocated.

She managed to extend his visits, making conversation and trying to get him to notice her. Then he mentioned that he had received his call-up. Agnes all but threw herself at him, horrified at the thought of her insurance collector being sent to the war where so many young men were dying.

After a series of very heavy hints from her, he had proposed and she had immediately accepted. The wedding had been held with almost indecent haste and the marriage had been consummated in a seedy seaside hotel out of season, with a landlady who carefully measured out the gravy that she poured over their evening dinner.

She had nervously, ceremonially undressed before him and offered her body on the well-worn bed with squeaky springs. Walter had undressed, his erection ridiculously pointing out from under his shirt. He mounted her and a very painful experience had ensued. The deed had been explained by her mother in a very strange and embarrassing conversation the day before the wedding. Never mind, it was done and hopefully she wouldn't have to go through that again.

After the marriage Agnes had considered finding a place for them to stay. However she didn't have enough money; Walter's wage as a lowly Private was barely sufficient for a rented house even in the working-class town where they lived. There was little point for the time being anyway as he would be posted abroad for the duration of the war. Who knew how long that would be?

So after the weekend honeymoon in New Brighton she remained living with her parents in their terraced house where on a calm night they could hear the hooters of ships on the River Mersey. A few short days later, spent in her old bedroom cramped together in her old single bed, he reported to the barracks in Liverpool for his duty.

She kissed her handsome soldier husband goodbye and tearfully returned home. She wrote him a letter immediately. The post was remarkably efficient; often delivered the same day, even later when he arrived in northern France and then Belgium -- a country that she had barely heard of previously.

Agnes was now a respectable married woman so she handed in her resignation from her job and spent her days waiting for the postman.

* * *

Agnes saw the telegram boy standing at the doorstep and started trembling. She knew what a telegram indicated; many of the households in their street had received them and the next day a familiar name would appear in a column in the newspaper. The boy held out an ominous fold of paper towards her but she could not reach out to take it.

Her mother stepped past her and took the note, thanked the boy who rode quickly away on his bicycle without even waiting for a tip. Agnes was still rooted to the spot so she opened the note and read it.

"He's wounded. Wally's alive."

Agnes slumped to the floor and her mother picked her up and laid her gently on the sofa.

* * *

Agnes arrived in the border town of Leominster on the mid-day train and found that the camp had a regular bus service from the train station. When the driver indicated to her, she alighted from the bus and followed the signs to the encampment. Then she was directed to the verandah, where she saw a very plump nurse. She asked where her husband would be found; the girl rose and indicated a wheelchair nearby.

Agnes gazed upon a headed torso, the broken shell of a soldier. He had nothing where there should have been legs, the head was swathed in white bandages with a short tuft of dark hair protruding out of the top reminding her of the bristles on a lavatory brush. Even the hands were covered in bundles of white cloth. She paused to take in the scene, then shrieked and ran from the garden, the house and the village.

* * *

Chapter 5

Walter listened as the wailing noise faded into the distance. Inside his bandages he could feel tears well up and moisten the material.

He heard Gwen return and felt her push him across the lawns to where she had told him there were trees.

"Now don't you worry dearie, she's had a shock. Someone should have warned her properly what to expect. She'll feel better in a bit, then she'll come back, you'll see."

But Agnes did not return.

* * *

Weeks passed, the bandages were eventually removed from his hands and finally from his eyes. To begin with he could just see shadows but gradually he started to distinguish shapes and then objects. Finally he could even recognise faces.

Walter found something really disconcerting. Whenever he thought he was waving his legs in the air, he wasn't. He could finally see that it was an illusion; no-one else in the entire world knew what he was feeling.

His hands healed more quickly with fragile skin, but at least he could now feed himself and perform other private functions.

He was surprised to find that Gwen was of heavy build with straggly brunette hair barely restrained by her nurses' headdress . His imagination had convinced him that she was lithe with a firm body, flat stomach and fashionably perky breasts uplifted by a laced corset; trim ankles encased in knee length boots; guaranteed to turn any young man's eyes.

This was not the case. Gwen had a comfortable body that bulged against the starched uniform with heavy practical shoes. Large breasts stretched her apron marked with its red cross to the limit. With her size came a natural strength so she had been able to haul him from bed to wheelchair and back again single-handed. Any exertion however made her breathe heavily and Walter recognised how he had always realised when she was approaching.

One day the other guys on the ward asked him to join them on an excursion to the local pub. Such things were permitted but with an early curfew -- as often as not ignored. So Walter was spruced up and they took turns in pushing his wheelchair along the narrow country lane into the village. In the pub the local ale was a dark liquid with swirling debris visible when held up to the light. Apparently it put hairs on the chests of the drinkers. It was served by a barmaid, a local girl with a low-cut blouse and heavy breasts who cheerfully accepted the many ribald compliments of the blue-uniformed men.

A symbolic 30 minutes after curfew they returned to the camp, running and joking. At a corner the wheelchair tipped over and Walter was thrown into a hedgerow. They picked him up and bundled him back into the chair but a wheel was buckled and squeaked all the rest of the way.

They re-entered the camp with pantomime exaggerated hushes as they dodged the matron. After such a long period of abstinence Walter felt quite light-headed and almost human again. The next day he nursed a slight hangover but his mood was immeasurably improved.

* * *

The next day he told Gwen about the escapade, giggling like a schoolboy. She felt a strange pride at his recovery, but concern regarding the risks of his still delicate body being thrown around the countryside by a bunch of drunken soldiers. The solution was obvious; she was residing in a bleak nurses' hostel with little social life other than the gossip of other nurses far from home. She would accompany Walter to the pub in future and be there in case he needed taking care of.

And so the following week Gwen wore her best going-out clothes and pressed some make-up into action. Walter and the other patients had a female escort for company.

Gwen's best clothes were not going to win many prizes at a débutante ball. A long grey dress which concealed her boobs and buttoned straight down the front, with a heavy coat. Her working clothes came in three sets; one to wear, one in the wash and one to dry, iron and air, but she owned only one decent outfit, already darned several times.

It was the first time that Walter had seen her out of her frumpy uniform so despite the frugality of the outfit she was still a pleasant sight.

They had a merry evening and he was just as intoxicated as before when they returned to the camp. A few yards before the main entrance Walter asked Gwen to pause, just as they were in a shadowy spot under some trees. He was feeling emotional in beer and thanked her effusively for her devoted care.

Gwen placed her hand on his arm to still him, then slowly bent down to kiss him tenderly on the lips. His arm came up around her shoulder to extend the moment, she responded and settled down on one knee to give him a hug.

Walter's hand slipped down and brushed the side of her breast; his heart jumped and he took his hand away swiftly. Him, a married man and her a medical practitioner -- disgraceful behaviour. However she didn't seem to mind and continued the kiss so he raised his hand back to her shoulder.

* * *

Gwen thought briefly of an encounter with a valley boy before the war. She hadn't thought of him as such at the time, but now looking back she could see the type. A hard working, hard drinking hard fighting boy. Cheap threadbare clothes, even for Sunday best.

He had asked her to accompany him to the cinema on a Saturday afternoon, then in the gloom his hand had wandered along her thigh until she had slapped it away. Undeterred he had tried to squeeze her breast and snog her; she ended up leaning over the arm of the seat to get away from him. Afterwards he had called her a 'frigid bitch' and a 'fat cow'. He surely would never flinch from an unintentional touch.

Now, in the company of this man with whom she had built an affection, she felt no desire to shrug away any advances. She was a tidy girl wasn't she? Never been called the 'village bike' for anyone to ride; why shouldn't she have her own desires to enjoy and satisfy?

Gwen twisted slightly so that his arm had to fall down, then she caught hold of it under her own arm to keep it against her. In return she felt his hand turn to cup underneath her breast and support its weight. Her heartbeat rose as she savoured the feel of his hand, the intimacy of the contact. She moved in closer to give him a full embrace and opened her mouth for a proper, passionate kiss.

* * *

His head was spinning. Agnes had never embraced him like this, even on their wedding night. Looking back it was a cold emotionless consummation, without any of the ardour of this spirited Welsh lass with the accent of song echoing across the mountains. He pressed his hand firmly to her breast and was rewarded with the feel of a rising nipple through the material of her dress and the thin brassiere underneath.

Walter felt her warm tongue against his lips, probing and separating and he opened his mouth to allow her access. She sought his tongue and he tentatively responded by sliding his tongue against hers. He moved his hand to the buttons on the front of her dress and she eased back to allow him space. Slowly he fumbled with the fastenings until he had enough open to insert his hand to feel her bra. Boldly he stroked the soft forgiving bare flesh above the garment and then forced his fingers down inside to hold the breast itself.

* * *

She felt wild and abandoned. Her breath was heavy, she loved his touch on the place where she had denied the groping hand before. But she was off-balance, leaning over his wheelchair and she could feel herself slowly toppling over.

Gwen slowly broke free and with her dress gaping open, leaned forwards again to embrace and lift him bodily from the chair and place him down on the grassy bank at the side of the road. She sat alongside and just so that he was under no illusion, she took his hand and placed it back inside her clothes herself.

She returned to the kiss and for a time they forgot his injuries. Her hand went to his hip and then eventually found its way to his groin. She fondled his growing erection through his uniform, then it was her turn to unfasten buttons.

Gwen held his stiff cock as it protruded through his fly and Walter eased her tit out of the bra so that he could hold it properly. He held her nipple between finger and thumb as they continued to kiss lost in their private world. She slowly rubbed his cock and he tweaked her nipple in time to her movements.

* * *

Their peace was disturbed by the sound of inebriated men approaching along the lane. Quickly they removed their hands and tried to sit with an impression of innocence as the group of men passed. Gwen was aware of her breast hanging loosely out of her bra inside her dress, whilst Walter had his erection stuffed brutally inside his trousers which tented for all to see.

The men saw them there of course. They recognised both Gwen and Walter; it was hard not to when they had been sharing a ward for months.

"What are you two doing there?" one called out.

"Spooners on the starboard bow ahoy!" shouted another.

"Walter you dirty dog, put her down!" said a third. With a sigh, Gwen lifted Walter back into the chair and they carried on to the camp.

* * *

Chapter 6

A week later Walter received news. He was to be transferred; he no longer required the bed at the hospital, a new convalescent ward was where he would continue his recuperation at another hospital in Lancashire. The idea presumably was for the soldier to be closer to his regiment's base and also his family; most regiments had close links to a particular location, which was where they historically drew the majority of their establishment from. With the toll that the war had caused, the lines were now blurred but the ministry did not worry about such niceties.

So bright and early one day he was loaded onto an omnibus and taken to the railway station. Gwen burst into tears as she watched him go and was promptly rebuked by her ward sister.

* * *

Walter arrived at his new home; a bleak collection of brick huts. The first thing he noticed was the cold -- he had become accustomed to the southern climate of only a couple of hundred miles away. He had turned into a 'Southern Softy' without even noticing.