First Times

I pulled Elena tightly to my chest, feeling her thin body trembling with fear, sobbing, terrified as she was. How could she not be? I was scared to death myself, the noise of the incessant shelling outside causing our home to shake and shudder. The two of us huddled up in the basement under a wool blanket I had hastily grabbed from the couch as we had fled downstairs. Gunshots were still being fired far and close, artillery audible in the distance. How long had it been? I had lost track of time. All I knew is that it felt like an eternity until the shelling finally receded, and the noise of encroaching tanks once again heralded a new assault upon the foundations of our home.

The machine-gun fire became sparser but it was not over and I heard the screaming and crying of civilians, women and children being dragged out of their basements, pleading sounds intermingled with yelling and singular gunshots. I knew what it meant and I wasn't ready for it. How could anyone prepare for such a terrible thing? I clung almost hopelessly to my frightened niece and knew I just had to be ready, there was no other way. No reprieve. My niece was only fourteen and they would have to pry her out of my cold, dead hands before I would let anyone hurt her.

The low rumbling noise of the tanks was followed by the sound of lighter vehicles and I realised it would not be long before men showed up to drag us out of our basement as well. I couldn't bare the thought, but where could we go? Was our house even still standing? Had it crumbled atop of us without us noticing? I decided we couldn't stay down there, even if chances we would be found in any of the upstairs rooms were probably just as high. The attic! It looked like the only viable option. I cupped Elena's tear-stricken face with both of my hands and made her face me:

"Elena, we can't stay down here, we're going to go hide upstairs, ok?"

I pulled her up with me, supporting her trembling, skinny frame with my arms and guided her up the dusty, brick staircase. It was a relief to find the door still opened easily as we stepped into the downstairs hallway, where two paintings lay on the floor, fallen down from the heavy shelling. Suddenly I noticed the approaching shadows of men through our glass panelled front door. My heart started pounding in my ears.

"Quick!"

I dragged a crying Elena with me up the flight of stairs, no more time to reach the attic, as I heard the loud shattering of glass and the frightening splintering of wood downstairs.

I pushed her into our small upstairs salon, hoping we could hide in the built-in closet it featured, then shut the door of the room behind me only to hear heavy boots stomping up the stairs, already too near. Too fast. As I was hurrying Elena into the closet, the door behind me flung open, violently crashing into the wall. I turned around to face them, wild-eyed, panic coursing through my veins, my chest heaving heavily, spreading my arms in a -no doubt- futile attempt to shield Elena from being taken. Their weapons were pointing directly at us as the two soldiers halted, at first focused only on us, then tensely scanning the room.

I recognised their nationality from the small red Canadian ensign insignia, the white now a faded grey, the red barely distinguishable from the brownish dirt. Both of them a mess, their uniforms and faces soiled with the splattering of mud, dust and rubble.

The man who was clearly in charge, maybe a sergeant, must have been somewhere in his early forties. The other man, one could barely call a man, a boy by the looks of it. He could not have been much older than eighteen I estimated. What on earth was he doing here? It was bad enough that our own decimated and depleted army had started rounding up teenage boys to fight a man's war, but now to see other armies do the same...

The sergeant addressed me, his eyes scanning the room, simultaneously keeping an eye on us, looking me up and down with a calculating glare.

"Is there anyone else in the house?" he spoke in German.

His accent was thick but comprehensible, his tone surprisingly neutral, neither threatening nor accommodating. A low and raspy, but not unpleasant voice.

"No." I shook my head, shielding Elena, keeping her tightly behind my back, squeezing her trembling hands hard as I tried to steady myself as best as I could.

He gauged me, no doubt trying to figure out if I was lying, then said something in English to the young man who promptly left the room after which I heard him checking the other rooms. Meanwhile the sergeant had lowered his weapon and started slowly walking around our small upstairs salon, checking out its contents, almost as if it was a museum, picking up a book, opening and closing a drawer. Behind me Elena had quietly started crying again.

"Do you have any coffee?" He suddenly asked quite matter-of-factly, circling back to us with unhurried, deliberate steps.

I shook my head again "No...but...we have some liquor..." I pointed shakily to the cabinet that lined the wall, my voice quivering.

Somewhat nonchalantly he walked over and opened one of the cabinet doors, fishing out one of the bottles and holding it to the light to read its label. He shrugged and reached for one of the liquor glasses that stood orderly on top of the cabinet and poured himself a generous shot.

Meanwhile the boy soldier barged back in and I deducted he informed his superior that the upstairs rooms were empty, just as I had said they were. The sergeant merely nodded and took a sip, looked out the window pensively, then back at us. Once again he looked me up and down, making me even more nervous, if that was at all possible. He finally put the glass down and looked me straight in the eyes, as he spoke, once more quite neutrally.

"The girl will be safe. You can hide her in one of the other chambers..." he gestured to the hallway "...But you... You have to do something for us..."

He glanced meaningfully at the young soldier.

"...For him."

The young man was now standing uncomfortably, his eyes flicking awkwardly from his superior to me, seemingly not comprehending what they were doing there, probably not understanding German. I immediately understood the implications of the sergeant's words and gritted my teeth, casting my eyes down, my gaze darting all over the floor, and took a deep quivering breath at the choice I was being offered. If you could call it a choice.... It was not what I had been expecting but...if that was what it would take to keep Elena safe...

I looked back up at him and gave him a small, barely perceptible nod.

For Elena's sake, for my sake, for survival's sake...I would do it.

He gestured with his head that I should go hide Elena, so I pulled her with me and took her to the small bedroom just outside the salon, where I opened the the doors of the armoire and helped her sit down on the wooden bottom board.

I cupped her terrified face: "Elena, you stay here, ok? Stay in the closet and do not come out, you hear me? No matter what happens, no matter what you hear. You stay here till I come get you, alright?"

"But aunt, what is going to happen? Please, don't leave me!" Her tear-stained face was riddled with fear.

"Elena!" I snapped at her "Do as I say! I will be back, ok?!"

I didn't want to have to talk to her like this, but I knew it was the only way she would obey me. I kissed her hard on the forehead, then closed the doors, my hand lingering for a moment as I saw her frightened eyes disappear into the darkness.

In truth, I didn't know for sure if I would be back... I took another deep breath, steadying myself and returned to the salon where the sergeant now stood with one hand on the shoulder of the boy next to him, talking to him in English, when his young eyes shyly glanced at me for a second, then briefly and seemingly shocked shaking his head at the sergeant who then tightened his grip on the young man's shoulder.

The sergeant's voice became insistent, almost irritated till the boy finally half nodded, apparently conceding, albeit terribly uncomfortably and blinking rapidly. We crossed eyes causing him to awkwardly look away.

As I started moving past the sergeant heading towards the ensuite bedroom, he suddenly but gently grabbed me by my upper arm, his big hand effortlessly enclasping it, pulling me in closer, as he quietly informed me:

"It's his first time...." then looking straight into my eyes "Make it a sweet one."

I nodded more with fluttering eyelids than my head itself as I swallowed shakily, the reality of what I was being asked to do settling in hard. Then I proceeded and held open the door to the bedroom as he pushed the boy -who stumbled- past me and then fully into the bedroom. I stepped in and closed the door behind me with one final submissive glance to the sergeant.

The bedroom was cold as always, not having been heated since a long time already before the war started. This was where I slept with Elena, keeping each other warm during freezing cold winter nights. Not a room where I had ever expected to have to.... Stop thinking, this is for Elena.

The young man just stood there awkwardly glancing around, not much further than to where the sergeant had pushed him. When he finally looked at me hesitantly I made a greeting gesture with my head, which he timidly returned.

I tentatively gestured to his rifle, pointing that he should put it aside, not wanting him to construe my movement as a grab for his weapon. Perplexed he looked at his rifle as if he'd almost forgotten it was even there, then he quickly removed it as he grimaced uncomfortably and set it aside in the corner of the room.

Next I gestured with my hand to my own head, indicating for him to take off the dirty helmet, of which he then proceeded to loosen the strap that kept it firmly in place under his chin, his hands nervously fumbling with the moist, stained ribbon.

I walked over to the small wooden dressing table, where a I always kept a beautiful Delftware pitcher with water next to a large matching bowl, so Elena and I could refreshen ourselves in the morning. It had belonged to my grandmother and it was chipped here and there, the glazing shimmering with tiny cracks, but I still found it beautiful nonetheless. My Omi always brought back many warm and wonderful memories. I proceeded to fill the bowl with water after which I reached for a small towel in the drawer.

The boy had remained in place, his helmet under his arm, his eyes shyly flicking from mine to the dressing table, to the bed, the floor....like a nervous child on his very first day at school.

Gesturing for him to come closer I dabbed the towel into the water, feeling the coldness of it stiffen my fingers as if to freeze time itself. He halted at a polite, respectful distance, so I closed the gap myself, stepping forward and indicated for him to put the helmet down on the table.

Then I slowly reached out my hand and gently dabbed with the cloth all over his face, removing most of the muddy debris while I could feel his eyes travelling all over my face and sometimes interlocking with mine, revealing his youthful apprehension. I tried to smile reasuringly, none of this was his fault after all. Not the war, not the draft, not this situation, none of it.

The water in the bowl was already turning into a murky brown as I regularly rinsed and wrung out the cloth and repeated the dabbing and rubbing till most of the dirt had been removed, revealing a boyish face that now appeared even younger than before. Poor soul. He should have been at home right now, helping out his family with chores, going to school perhaps, chasing girls his own age.

Next I tenderly took his right hand and washed it as well, as best as I could, the dirt under his fingernails impossible to remove. How long had it been since they left home? When I finished washing his other hand I gently took it in mine, slowly brought it close to my lips and kissed it. A soft, slow and tender kiss, hoping it would show him how to treat a girl in the future...if...there would be a future at all. I noticed his breathing had picked up and he started blushing awkwardly, his eyes all over the place.

Then I started undoing the uppermost button of his dirty uniform, which proved to be challenging, the cotton soiled and damp, resisting the exiting of the brass button. He noticed me struggle and suddenly reached out with his hands to do it himself, smiling apologetically. I stepped back to give him room to undress as I proceeded to do the same. Measuredly I stepped out of my shoes and put them aside, then proceeded slowly to remove my wool cardigan, my silk blouse and stockings and folded them orderly over the chair that always stood at the dressing table, leaving me in only my underwear. Lord forgive me for I am about to sin. I tried pushing away all thoughts of embarrassment, shame, anger and powerlessness and think only of Elena who wasn't much younger than the boy in the room with me now.

The cold air gave me goosebumps and made my nipples visibly stiffen under the silk fabric of my brassiere and I heard his belt buckle scrape against the floor and the ruffle of clothes clumsily placed atop one another, a boot falling over. As I looked up again I noticed he was now staring at my body as if transfixed, his mouth hanging open, barely breathing, his face reddening even more. He'd kept on his undershirt and shorts and through the loose fabric I could see he was half hard already.

I suddenly realised there was no way I could give him a sweet first time if he came prematurely. My husband had explained these things to me when we had been married for quite a while already and our embarrassment to talk about these forbidden topics had faded.

The juvenile pressure would first have to be released... there was no other way. I swallowed as I walked over, stepped in close, took both of his youthful hands in mine and slowly placed them on my breasts allowing him some time to adjust, to feel his own feelings, to feel around, as he tentatively started squeezing my bosom through the fabric, unsure of how soft of hard his manipulations should be and I could sense the shaky quickening of his breathing.

I took another small step closer and placed both of my hands lightly on his chest so as not to overwhelm him, then very slowly let one hand travel down to his shorts that now clearly tented in front of him. At first I merely touched his manhood through the fabric, which nonetheless elicited a high-pitched gasp from him. I tried smiling encouragingly at him even though it felt beyond awkward. Still, it seemed to calm him down somewhat. When it looked as if he had regained some control I slowly reached inside his shorts till my hand met the velvety coat of his manhood, enclasping it with my slender hand. At this point I had to steady him so his knees wouldn't buckle so I decided it was better if I sit him down on the bed. I linked my thumbs into his underpants and gently released his now fully erect cock from it's cloth prison, allowing the garment to fall down to his ankles after which I gently guided him to step out of them and walk to the bed where I sat down beside him.

He was breathing more rapidly, and stared at me wide-eyed, embarrassed, painfully horny, wanting, but not knowing how. Young, inexperienced, innocent...just a boy. I gently stroked his blushing cheek with one hand and let the other envelop his straining manhood at which he audibly gasped. Then I started moving my hand, rhythmically sliding over his straining flesh with slow, long strokes which intensified his breathing. It probably didn't even take half a minute til I felt him grow even harder and next his body arched as he quivered and spasmed through his climax, his eyes shut tight, as he grunted and moaned. His seed landed on the floor, his undershirt, his thighs and my hand as I kept stroking him till his high subsided and he was panting heavily.

I gave him a moment to catch his breath and quietly went over to the dressing table to fetch a clean towel. As I was walking back and cleaning my hands I noticed him ashamedly glancing at me, his face crimson red with embarrassment for erupting this fast. Poor boy. I kneeled beside him and tried comforting him by putting one hand empathetically on his knee as I attempted to give him my most understanding look. Then I gently started cleaning him up where his semen had landed on his thighs and I gestured he should take off the soiled undershirt.

As I had expected, his erection had not died down but was still standing strongly as he awkwardly handed me the dirty undershirt, not knowing what I wanted him to do with it. I quickly used it to clean up the floor together with the towel and then put both aside.

When I stood up again in front of him he looked at me from under his eyebrows, his eyes traveling hesitantly over my body and back to my face. I faintly smiled at him hoping to convince him somewhat he hadn't failed and took a deep breath in as I started undoing my brassiere. As I let it fall to the floor, the new draft of cold air made my nipples stiffen even more, and I could see his right hand move a bit, his eyes suddenly shooting up to mine as if to ask permission, so I nodded a go ahead.

His young hands were cool, but no longer as cold as when I'd washed them, and goosebumps renewed themselves all over my torso. He was feeling around, his mouth ajar in wonderment at what was probably his first ever close-up view of a woman's bosom. The bed creaked as he shifted his weight and leaned in closer till I felt his shaky breath on my breasts. I pulled him in a little closer, stroking his hair, till his warm mouth closed over a nipple and I shut my eyes to picture Friedrich, my late husband.

Soon the young man's initial, tentative cupping was changing into a needier groping, his mouth now sucking on a breast and I felt my own body react to the erotic stimulation. I noticed myself exploring the unfamiliar feel of his head beneath my hands as I ran my fingers through his hair. For Elena.

I let go of his head and carefully started undoing my girdle which made him sit back in astonished anticipation, giving me room to also slide down my silk panties, exposing myself entirely to his now clearly lust filled gaze, almost entranced with the small dark triangle of which he'd maybe only ever seen a drawing.

Again, I noticed the tentative movement of a hand, eager to reach out and touch, eyes asking for permission once more, so I reached down and guided his inexperienced fingers to explore my womanly lips, now moist and a little slippery from his earlier sensual stimulation of my bosom. It felt shameful and forbidden, yet sensuous and pleasurable at the same time and I decided to just let it all be what it wanted to be as I let out a soft little gasp and closed my eyes when he found the small bud hidden between my petals. I guided his hand with my own, making circular motions alternating with strokes up and down, spreading the warm wetness all over, as my own breathing picked up, the natural need for more stimulation kicking in, allowing him for a few moments to excite me the way I had excited him. Not his fault. Don't think.

I halted his hand with my own as I tried to regain my composure for an instant, then gestured he should lie down on the bed. His eyes grew big but he complied immediately as I took a deep breath and crawled next to him on my side. Was it reassuring to him that I was now also breathing more rapidly as was he? I kissed him gently on his forehead, my hand tenderly on his cheek, thumb lightly tracing away from his lips to his ear, and then I guided one of his hands back to my womanly wetness, which his fingers now eagerly explored even deeper, making me squirm and sigh. I closed my eyes for a moment, embarrassed, angry, ashamed, sad...excited. I rolled on my back, cradled his head with my hands and pulled his face to my chest where he immediately started kissing and licking my breasts, hornily gasping in between nips and nibbles as I felt his hardened manhood pressed up against my thigh, and unfamiliar hands were exploring my body. "Make it a sweet one."