January Girl (zephrin) wrote in promptomatic,
January Girl

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"- Write down an erotic fantasy about a sexual experince that you would have in a minute if you were offered to you, no questiones asked. It should be something you would have no reservations or conditions about doing in real life."

I've never been very good at this 'war' thing, I mean, the last war I took part in was back in grammer school when the boys 'fought' against the girls. So, how come I'm here, down this trench 10 miles from the Verdun, with my brother's name stitched on my uniform, clutching this useless rifle? I don't know. I do know now that Captain Downing's first name isn't Michael, it's Mary. I know this because she figured out I wasn't Stephen. I also know this because now her lips are wandering over my face, closer and closer towards mine; but then, I always was pretty observant.

I breathe out, because I've never felt like this before. Capt. Michael Downing was so handsome, so dashing, but because I was under the name and gender of Stephen Parskowski, I could do nothing. Mary Downing, having given no explanation only the whisper that she's wanted me since she first laid eyes on me, is on top of me and moving slowly as her hands and lips work over me. I drop my rifle. She shivers and it only makes that sweet tickle in my stomach worse. Mama never told me about this.

"Captain..." I start.


Her lips find mine, so soft and delicate and even though I'd only ever kissed one man before, I knew that her kiss was something I'd waited my whole life for. Now I shiver. The feeling of her, the weight of her there, as we grind down into the dirt of the trench, a feeling like this can't possibly be legal. Oh God, sweet Jesus, but after these months of mud and blood, chlorine and death, mortars and Thompson guns, this must be the Heaven they talk about.

I can't help but groan and writhe as a hand finds its way into my pants and down south. Mama said a boy's got Florida down south and a girl's got Mississippi, but Lord, Mary Downing was plundering Jackson. My legs lock around hers as the other hand winds and rubs over my back and mine find the courage to embrace the warm, soft skin of her back, under the uniform. There's no Krauts out there now, no guns and barbwire, nothing out in the evil air of blasted France, nothing except two forms in pleasure down under the ground, secret and secure in the foxhole.

"Shell..." I manage weakly as the earth shakes.

"Shhhh, it's not a shell," Mary says, as she closes her eyes and trembles strongly.

Again, I gasp and groan, sweet, sweet tingling taking over my body and making me numb, kissing the Captain harder and locking my fingers behind her back. We could die right now, right here in the trench, and I wouldn't have been happier. But then, I've never been much good at war.
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