War and Love: The Forester's Lodge

War and Love - The Ardennes' Forester's Lodge

© JoeMo1619 - May 2025 ff.

Prologue: The Wehrmacht's offensive in the Ardennes, in English named 'The Battle of the Bulge', was the last (part-)successful German attack of WW2 and surprised the US-American troops entirely. Starting on December 16 th, 1944, massive German attacks through the thick forests of the Ardennes in Southern Belgium cut off many US units from their supply lines. In principle the German attacks - repeating the successful strategy of 1940 - could be stopped at December 27 th, but it took another month fighting under strongest winter conditions with heavy snowfall and ice-cold temperatures to finish the German attack off.

The Battle of the Bulge was by far the largest battle of the US Army during WW2 and resulted in the largest numbers of US-American POWs captured by the Germans. Many US soldiers had to suffer in German POW camps until the final end of the war.

"Only seven days until Christmas," I said to my passenger, Corporal Charles Winters, as I carefully steered our Army truck down the partially snow-covered country road east of Bastogne in the Belgian Ardennes.

"That's right," grumbled the usually very quiet Corporal. We both belonged to a unit made up exclusively of soldiers who were Black or of other dark-skinned backgrounds. U. S. Army units were still largely segregated by race, but the rumor that Black units were more often assigned to especially dangerous missions was not something I could confirm from my own experience. "And I have to admit, I'm not feeling the Christmas spirit at all." Then the Corporal fell silent again, and I turned my thoughts inward as I gripped the steering wheel, which demanded a lot of strength.

I, Private First Class Omar Bendley from Parkersburg, West Virginia, was about to experience my first wartime Christmas far from home. Our unit had been moved from Britain to France two weeks after the Normandy landings. Since then, I had driven my truck as part of a supply battalion all across northern France and Belgium. I had even driven right through Paris, which had left a lasting impression on me. Unlike many of the large and small cities in France that our Army and its Allies had fought to liberate from German troops, Paris had remained completely unscathed. Even in the English towns where we had prepared for the liberation of Europe for months, I had seen far more war damage. Now, after nearly six months of continuous combat duty, our unit -- part of the 1st U. S. Army -- had been moved to quieter positions to recover, resupply with weapons, ammunition, equipment, and fresh personnel, and prepare for the continued advance across the German border. When we left the main depot in Bastogne, we had heard that there were heavy battles going on further east along the American-German front, but aside from a "drive carefully and stay alert," we weren't given any detailed information on our way back to base.

We were just driving through a rather remote forest area, typical of the snow-covered Ardennes landscape, when a pressing need from an overfilled bladder forced me to stop. "I'm pulling over at the next forest path to take a leak," I informed my Corporal, who grunted his agreement. Parking partially on the road, I jumped out of the cab and walked a few meters toward the edge of the woods to relieve myself. I had just finished and was buttoning up my pants when I heard a whistling sound behind me, followed by a powerful explosion whose shockwave threw me into the snow between the trees. When I lifted my head and looked toward my truck, I saw it destroyed and engulfed in bright flames. Just seconds later, from my hiding spot in the woods, I saw two German tanks coming up the road. They maneuvered past my burning truck and continued at high speed toward Bastogne.

"German tanks," I murmured in utter shock. "What's going on here?"

Seeing no further enemy movement, I tried to get back to my burning truck to check what had happened to Corporal Winters. But I could only get within ten meters of the vehicle--it was too hot, and the fire had now spread to the entire load.

It was late afternoon; we had maybe two hours of daylight left. Aside from my winter uniform and pistol, I had nothing with me. My rifle and small backpack were in the cab--and burning. I pulled back to the forest's edge for safety and watched the truck burn for several minutes. "Now what?" I asked myself, until I heard the sound of more tanks coming from the east and retreated deeper into the forest path. Then I saw four more German armored vehicles stop just short of my truck. Two German soldiers jumped down, circled the truck with their weapons at the ready, determined no American soldiers were alive, and climbed back aboard. Then one of the tanks pushed the now less-intensely burning truck into a roadside ditch, and the group continued westward.

I shook my head. "No one said anything about a counterattack," I said aloud in disbelief. "What the hell is going on here?"

It was immediately clear that I couldn't return to the road and march alone back to our position. "I don't want to end up as a prisoner of war," I kept telling myself as I began walking deeper into the forest along the path. There were no more than ten centimeters of snow under the trees, so I was able to move fairly easily. But I had no idea where this path might lead -- my road and terrain map had burned with my truck.

At a fork in the path, I flipped a mental coin and ultimately took the right-hand trail, which, based on visible tracks beneath the snow, looked like it was used more often. My decision paid off. As I reached the edge of the forest, I saw a relatively large, two-story house with several outbuildings about three hundred meters away. The distant sounds of battle -- clearly machine-gun fire and the blasts of tank shells or artillery -- made me approach the house carefully under the cover of the trees. Maybe I had a chance to hide there and find shelter to avoid freezing to death in the oncoming night. As a Mountaineer boy from West Virginia, I knew all too well that survival in open terrain in winter conditions wasn't guaranteed, even with a warm uniform.

I had just reached the yard, which I easily recognized as a forester's lodge thanks to the deer trophies mounted on the gable, when I heard the unmistakable sound of tracked vehicles approaching from the access road. Looking around hastily for a suitable hiding place, I spotted a partially open shed--apparently the lodge's firewood storage. With a few quick moves, I created a niche behind the front wall of firewood and squeezed into it. "If someone wants to find me, they'll have to stand right in front of me," I whispered to give myself courage. Through a small hole in the woodpile, I could even see into the yard.

Then I heard a German troop transporter, one of those special vehicles with front wheels and rear tracks, drive into the yard and stop. Through my peephole, I saw a young officer exit and ring the doorbell with a strong pull.

It took quite some time, and the officer was already loudly calling for the occupants, before the door opened. In the dim twilight, I saw a figure backlit by the hallway light--an elderly man leaning on a cane.

"What do you want, Lieutenant?" the old man growled.

"We are liberating Belgium for the second time. This time we're driving the Americans into the English Channel," the officer replied sharply. "We are systematically searching the region for American soldiers to kill or capture. Have you seen any soldiers around here today?"

The old forester shook his head. "As you can see, Lieutenant, I'm not very mobile anymore. With this weather, I don't leave the house. Too slippery."

"And you're not hiding any Americans in your lodge?"

The old man chuckled. "I know you can search my lodge anytime. Happened in the summer of 1940, too. No, only my family lives here. And I'm the only man, and truly no longer fit for duty."

Surprisingly, the lieutenant accepted the answer. After a pause of several seconds, he asked a question that caught me off guard: "Can your wife prepare a hot dinner for four hungry soldiers?" He laughed briefly. "We'll behave."

The forester called something toward the back of the hall, and shortly thereafter, a tall, wiry woman appeared beside him. "You want dinner?" she asked in the matter-of-fact tone of a seasoned innkeeper. Apparently, the forester's family had plenty of experience with German soldiers since the 1940 occupation of Belgium.

"Yes," the young lieutenant replied, surprisingly well-mannered. "We're really hungry. And it might be noon tomorrow before we reach our next supply station. Our advance is moving very fast."

"Then come in. We've got enough potatoes and venison for four hungry men."

The lieutenant whistled for the other three soldiers to join him from the vehicle, which they left unattended in the yard. They felt very safe.

The idea of the forester's wife preparing dinner for the German soldiers made my stomach churn. I hadn't eaten in hours and had no food on me. All I could do was go hungry.

An hour later, the four German soldiers left again. It was now dark--and more importantly, it was getting colder. Thankfully, there was still a thick cloud cover with occasional light snowfall, so extreme cold wasn't likely. But the thought of spending the night unprotected in this woodpile was frightening.

Still, I began to doze off, drifting into a short, vivid dream of a Christmas turkey in my parents' home in Parkersburg. Suddenly, the squeak of the front door startled me awake. Through my peephole, I saw a tall figure approaching the woodshed, holding a kerosene lamp in one hand and a large wicker basket in the other -- apparently bringing in firewood for the lodge's stoves. The figure, lit from below by the lamp -- probably a woman -- stopped about a meter from the woodpile, set down the basket, hold up the lamp and searched for any clues where I was hiding.

Hello? Stranger soldier? Are you still there?" the woman asked into the night with a bright voice and broken English, shining her light toward the stack of wood where I had wedged myself into my hiding place. "Come out! You're safe with us!"

I didn't think another second -- I knew I wouldn't survive a night in the winter cold under these conditions. "Yes. I'm here," I answered quietly, but loud enough to be heard.

"Come inside. We have a much better hiding place."

I immediately decided to accept the woman's invitation. Whether she was telling the truth or luring me into a trap didn't matter to me at that moment. I was already frozen stiff and had no feeling in my legs, which made my emergence from the hiding place a bit clumsy. Then I stood before a young woman who had raised the lamp high enough to illuminate both of our faces.

"Oh," she said briefly, probably because she had noticed my dark skin. Then she reached for the basket. "Please fill the basket with firewood. It's very heavy to carry when it's full."

I just nodded and carried out her request immediately.

"Come into the house," she urged me once the basket was filled. "I watched you when you came onto the yard and then hid from the Germans. Thank God they left again after filling their bellies and didn't stay overnight. Otherwise, you would've had serious trouble tonight."

"Thank you for saving me," I confessed, grabbed the basket of firewood, and followed the woman to the entrance. "I'm used to harsh winters back home. But that also means I know the dangers of the cold."

She closed the front door behind me, turned a large key in the lock, which clicked audibly, and pushed another bolt across. "There. Now only artillery fire could get in here." Then she looked at me, pulled off her wool gloves, and extended her right hand. "Juliette. Juliette Colaine."

"Very nice to meet you, Juliette. I'm Omar Bendley. From Parkersburg, West Virginia."

"Take the basket and come into the parlor. I spoke to my parents earlier, and they agreed that I could bring you in from your hiding place."

"Thank you." I followed Juliette and found the old forester I had seen at the front door earlier, and his wife, sitting in tall armchairs in front of an old fireplace stove radiating wonderful warmth. Juliette's parents looked at me with critical eyes.

"Then welcome," the old forester finally said, extending his hand to me from his seat. "It's a shame that the Germans are attacking us for the second time in five years. I had hoped this nightmare would end with you Americans arriving. Just like in the first war, when you helped us win." The old forester actually spoke reasonably decent English, even with a bit of an American accent.

"We were caught off guard," I admitted sheepishly. "My truck was hit by a tank shell on the road from Bastogne and burned out. I marched through the forest to get here."

"Then you were lucky not to walk straight into the Germans' arms. They take anyone they can get."

"If they don't shoot them on the spot," the forester's wife interjected for the first time. "Like Juliette's husband." Her tone was noticeably bitter. She got up from her chair, walked over to me, and extended her hand in greeting. "We're Isabelle and Gerard Vetrone. And we've spent all these years waiting to be liberated from these Nazi occupiers." She shrugged. "And now they're pushing through the Ardennes again, trying to drive out or capture you and your comrades, just like our troops and the French and British." She sighed deeply. "I fear it will never end."

"I don't believe that," I countered optimistically and resolutely. "The counterattack may be a surprise -- it certainly was to me. But we're strong enough to stop and destroy the Germans."

"God willing," the old forester replied. "That's what we thought four and a half years ago. Then we had a German army staff quartered in this forest house for weeks and were lucky they only used us as servants and didn't drive us out of our home." He sounded both grim and resigned.

Isabelle clapped her hands. "I suppose you're just as hungry as the four Germans who stormed into my kitchen earlier?" She looked at me challengingly.

"Yes, I truly am," I admitted. "I lost all my supplies in my burning truck."

"Then take a seat, Juliette will get you a beer, and I'll throw something hearty into the pan." With that, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Three-quarters of an hour later, I was full from fried potatoes, a piece of game meat, and nearly tipsy from a single bottle of beer. The exhaustion of the day slowly began to fade.

"We have an excellent hiding place in the house," Juliette said. "It proved its worth in summer 1940, though it might be a bit colder now in winter. But it's dry and frost-free. And we have very warm fur blankets that'll keep you cozy."

I followed her and was astonished when she opened a wardrobe in a large room upstairs and slid aside the back panel. "We don't know why this secret chamber was built into this 120-year-old forester's house. Probably for exactly the purpose we're using it now -- as a hiding place."

I looked around. The chamber was about five square meters, simply furnished with a bed, a table, and a chair. In one corner, there was a wooden toilet seat with a bucket underneath. The chamber was already prepared for my stay.

"I'm glad that you and your parents are taking me in and hiding me." I sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Juliette. "I even have electric light here and don't have to worry about it shining outside."

Juliette nodded. "Yes, the window is cleverly disguised. From the outside, it looks like a closed shutter, and from inside it's completely dark. Blackout rules have been strict since the beginning of the war." She placed a jug of water next to the washbasin. "Now, get some rest." She took a deep breath. "I hope your comrades fend off the counterattack quickly and liberate us -- and you -- a second time." Then she left, slid the back panel closed again, and left me alone.

I fell into a deep sleep -- the kind that comes with complete physical and emotional exhaustion. I slept for eight hours straight until my painfully full bladder woke me. Just as I was relieving myself in the makeshift toilet, I suddenly heard the back panel slide open and Juliette entered the hiding place. I was infinitely embarrassed but had no choice but to stand up from my "throne," pull up my underwear, and shield my rather impressive manhood from Juliette's still-curious gaze.

"I brought you a little breakfast," the young woman greeted me with a mischievous smile and placed a tray with two slices of bread, a jar of jam, and a plate of delicious-smelling scrambled eggs, next to which were two slices of dark meat. "We don't keep pigs, so we have no bacon. But in my opinion, this breakfast meat is better anyway -- it's from wild boars we hunted ourselves."

I gave Juliette the warmest, happiest smile I could. "Thank you so much. If you keep taking care of me this well, I'd gladly spend the rest of the war hidden here."

Juliette laughed. "We'll see what happens in the next few days. I hope the Germans don't push through to the Channel again and trap your soldiers. The four and a half years of occupation were no fun -- even here in this remote forester's lodge." She was about to exit when she turned back. "I have four or five English books. Should I bring them later so you don't get too bored?"

I beamed at her. "More than happy." I paused, then added, "Do you have a French textbook or even an English-French dictionary? I'd like to use the long hours here to learn more of your language. So far, all I know is 'Bonjour' and 'Merci beaucoup.'"

Now Juliette smiled warmly too. "I still have my old schoolbooks -- even my English book, with translations in French." She nodded. "I'll gather them this morning and bring them up."

Two hours later, Juliette returned with an armful of books. "Here's our entire collection of English books -- four novels, though I'm not sure if you'll like them. They're typical women's novels." She stacked them. "And these are my old schoolbooks. You'll have to see what's useful." She took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye. "The reports say the Germans have pushed deep west -- supposedly encircling Bastogne and advancing toward Namur. There are rumors about many American casualties and prisoners." She took another deep breath. "Looks like you'll be our hidden guest for a while. So I suggest I give you French lessons twice a day. The problem with books is that you need to hear the language to understand it."

I nodded thoughtfully. Juliette's news about the war in southern Belgium was concerning. I knew little about military strategy, but I remembered that in 1940 the Germans had crushed the Belgian, French and British armies in a matter of weeks. Juliette's assumption that I might be stuck in hiding for a long time seemed realistic. "How do you imagine the lessons going?" The prospect of this warm, kind woman spending hours with me daily was more than welcome.

"It's winter, so there's less work in the house and in the forestry," she said with a laugh. "I help my father feed the wildlife in the morning. Though 'help' is generous -- he tells me what to do, and I do it. Then I handle the firewood, the stoves, and help my mother in the kitchen, with laundry, and so on." She thought for a moment. "I could come up for an hour before lunch and two hours after dark. In the meantime, you can study vocabulary with the books and dictionary. I'll help with pronunciation and grammar."

I agreed. So we had a fixed schedule -- not knowing whether it would last days, weeks, or longer. We started that very day.

Our first lesson went as planned -- and was enjoyable for both of us.

"You're absolutely right," I told her that evening before she left to help her mother prepare dinner. "No one can learn French from books alone. But these personal lessons are already helping."

"I had a lot of fun," Juliette said, smiling. "If you're stuck here much longer, you'll leave this forest house speaking fluent French -- and with something useful learned from this war."

I had about an hour to myself before Juliette would bring me my dinner. Surprisingly, though, she returned just fifteen minutes later through the secret wardrobe. "My father wants you to come outside with him for a moment. He's hearing a lot of strange noises and wants to check with you to see if he's interpreting them correctly."

"Okay." I shrugged my shoulders and followed Juliette through the wardrobe, glad to get a few steps of fresh air.

Gerard Vetrone was waiting for me beneath the stairs. "Come outside with me, young man," he said, unlocking the front door and leading me out into the lightly snow-covered yard. I took a few deep breaths of the cool, fresh winter air when I suddenly heard heavy battle noise from the west toward Bastogne, and shortly after that from the south. I also saw flashes of fire reflecting on the bottom of the low-hanging clouds.

"Artillery fire and tank shells?" asked the old forester directly. "Sounds just like in the Great War, the first one."

I nodded. "Yes, especially strong from the west. Those are artillery salvos in intervals of less than a minute. That's some intense shelling." Two more bright flashes lit up the clouds. "How far is it from here to Bastogne?"

"About twenty kilometers."

"Then I'd guess German artillery is firing toward the city. Probably from positions halfway between here and Bastogne."

"And over there?" Gerard Vetrone pointed with his outstretched hand toward the renewed battle noise from the south.

"Probably a tank battle. Somewhere south of the road where my truck was shot up."

"Thanks," said the forester. "That's what I suspected as well." He gestured toward the front door. "Let's go back inside. It's cold. And scary."

I followed him into the hallway and stood beside Gerard as he informed his wife and daughter of our shared assessment. "The war is back on our doorstep. Just like in the summer of 1940. And just like I experienced it thirty years ago." He looked at the three of us one after the other, silently, for a few seconds. "We need to be careful. Tonight, prepare the basement so we can take shelter there if necessary. If the fighting moves closer, a misfired shell could easily hit the house."

Then he looked at me. "We're the only ones with combat experience. We should remove the blackout covers from two or three windows on the upper floor and take turns keeping watch so we can recognize any threats in time. The rooms must be kept absolutely dark, of course, so we don't make ourselves an easier target."

"And if you suddenly see German soldiers on our yard, you disappear into your hiding place immediately," Juliette added.

We put our plan into action right after dinner. Gerard took the first watch until midnight, then he woke me and went to sleep in the basement.

"Nothing alarming to report," Gerard told me when I relieved him on watch. "I placed two armchairs at the window so you can see into the darkness without being seen," he explained. "In the last hour, I only saw one flash of fire under the clouds from the west. Otherwise, there's a jug of water in the hallway and a very small light that can't shine out." Then he turned and went down the stairs toward the basement. "Good night."

My night watch was tedious. Outside, it was pitch dark due to the low cloud cover. The fighting had apparently stopped on both sides and would likely resume only at winter dawn. Suddenly, I heard soft footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Where are you?" came Juliette's bright voice.

"In the big room facing west. I'm sitting in the armchair."

The footsteps approached quickly in the darkness, and then Juliette, wearing only a thick knit cardigan over her nightgown, sat on the armrest. "Boring?"

"Yeah. But honestly, I'm glad. It wouldn't be good if we had a combat post right here in the yard."

"You're right about that." Juliette snuggled against my shoulder and hugged me. "You're an unusual person," she said after a long pause.

"Are all Black Americans like you?"

I chuckled quietly. "Not really. I graduated from a Black High-School and want to go to college if I survive this war. There aren't many options, since many colleges don't accept people of my skin color. But I can study my dream subject at a Black college too."

"You have separate schools and colleges by skin color?" Juliette was genuinely surprised.

"Yes. Even in West Virginia." I shrugged. "President Lincoln may have freed us and abolished slavery. But in many areas, we're still second-class citizens."

"I'm sorry." She pressed up against me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Then there was silence again. After a while, I noticed Juliette's hands slowly and gently starting to caress me. "Have you ever slept with a woman?" she suddenly whispered softly into my ear.

I took a moment before answering truthfully. "Just twice. The first time in Parkersburg with a very lively girl from the neighborhood. And the second time in a club near the barracks in England." I laughed sheepishly. "Not exactly an experienced lover."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Oh, how wonderful."

"And you?"

"Twenty-three. I've been a widow for a year. The Germans captured my Pierre as he tried to escape from a forced labor camp to come back home to me. 'Shot while trying to escape,' they said officially when they returned his body for burial." Juliette now sounded angry. "I hate the Germans. And now they're back again." During her emotional words, her caresses had become more intense. Suddenly, she gently bit my earlobe, sending a tingling, invigorating shiver through my whole body.

"I want to sleep with you, right here and now!" Juliette sounded so determined that I didn't think anymore, but slid a hand into her cardigan and began massaging her left breast.

"Mmmmm," was Juliette spontaneous reaction. She stood up, opened her woolen cardigan and dropped it to the floor. Then she took her nightgown and pulled it over her head, resulting in fast hardening nipples because of the cold conditions in the room. Juliette took the initiative. "Stand up, my dear. I need you entirely in your natural beauty," was her command, which couldn't be misunderstood. I followed her demand immediately. Few moments later I had stripped down my uniform, Juliette made a step forward and took my slowly growing cock into her hands. "Oh! That is really promising." Suddenly she felt down on her knees. "Now I will teach you what 'french love' really means," she said with some giggles. She lifted my semi-hard cock, pulled my forskin back with one hard jerk and started a combined mouth-tongue-treatment I had never experienced in my young life. I buried my hands in her curly hair and supported her head's back-and-forth movements; a crazy and intenive sentiment flew my entire body. Now I grasped the storiers of older comrades, when they fancied about the wonders of 'french love'.

In less then three minutes my best friend was steel-hardened and fully erected. "What a giant piece of manhood", Juliette admired my cock just feeling it because it was too dark to see it. "Your cock will drive me crazy!"

She pushed me back into my armchair. She directed me into the right position. "Skid a little bit forward." Then she turn around, spread her legs over my thights and placed my cock's tip just in front of her pussy entrance. With a deep and very erotic sounding breath she descended on my cock step-by-step. I stabilzed her with both hands on her hips after she started to ride me reverse cowgirl. Recognizing that this wasn't necessary my hands moved quickly upwards, grabbed both breasts and squizzed them. I could hear instantly that she loved a hard treatment of her nipples, pulling them as much as possible. "I love this", was her short, breathless comment, stimulating meeven more.

Very soon I reached my climax point and had big problems to control myself, avoiding an early, creamy explosion. But in these moments Juliette's much larger sex experience came into play. Each time she recognized that I was seconds from explosion she sat down quietly on my full extended cock, only milking my cock with her vaginal muscles. Additionally, she grabbed between my legs and squeezed my cock's roots with her thumb and fingers. Perfect play.

I didn't know how long we had been able to extend our encounter. I didn't care but the sense to remain just in front of my staying explosion was unbelievable wonderful and horny. Suddenly Juliette switched into a hard gallop and pushed us loudly moaning over the orgasm cliff. I pumped half a dozen sperm loads deep into her pussy, without the slightest thought that she could become pregnant.

Juliette's orgasm faded slowly away, she had leaned her sweaty back to my similar sweaty breast, my hands caressed her entire body, making Juliette purring like a satisfied, happy cat. Then we got cold, cleaned ourselves as good as it was possible with two towels and dressed again.

"You have the largest and most beautiful cock a woman can wish for," was Juliette's surprising but charming compliment. "I sincerely hope that you will stay with us for many weeks. Not just for the French lessons."

We hugged each other and kissed us. Then Juliette went back to her improvised bed in the secure basement and left me on my observation watch. I stayed wide awake during four more uneventful hours, stimulated by the events of the night.

The following four days leading up to Christmas Eve followed exactly the same daily routine. During the day, Juliette and I had two-hour French lessons twice, which I supplemented with intensive vocabulary study. At night, Gerard and I took turns keeping watch; especially in the evenings and early mornings, the flickering firelight to the west indicated that the battle for Bastogne between the Germans and Americans continued unabated. Otherwise, everything was quiet. And every night, Juliette visited me to further initiate me into the art of French love. We both enjoyed our lovemaking more and more each night, both in duration and intensity; for the first time in my life, Juliette guided me with kisses between her thighs and showed me how to take a woman to a special kind of heaven using mouth, tongue, and fingers. Her normal fucked orgasms had been a wonderful experience for me, but Juliette's reactions to licked and fingered orgasms had been a real adventure. She was flooding me with her love juices. My comrades had told me abount their own experiences, but the reality of lovemaking with Juliette exceeded all their stories.

The forester's family had traditionally set up and decorated a Christmas tree in their living room, which Gerard and Juliette had carefully felled the day before near the forester's house.

"I think the weather is changing for good," Gerard muttered to me after I had been given permission to come out of my hiding place for dinner and eat with the family. "Tonight the sky will clear, and it will become cold and crisp." He looked at me. "What does that mean for the fighting, young friend?"

"It means we'll hear the noise of aircraft for the first time." I nodded a few times to reassure myself. "Throughout our entire advance through France and Belgium, our air force always gave us the decisive advantage. Since mid-December, the sky had been so full of low-hanging snow clouds that I never heard a single plane."

"Well, then let's hope you're right and we can welcome advancing U. S. soldiers again."

"But until then, we must be especially careful," Juliette interjected. "During the retreat, German units can always show up at the forester's lodge, set up camp here, and make us a target."

"And they can plunder everything we own and requisition all our supplies. Then there will be nothing left for us." Isabella Vetrone was just as worried as everyone else present.

"Why don't we use my hiding place as a storage room for the supplies as well? After all, the room isn't heated."

My suggestion was met with nods of agreement. "Good idea," Isabella commented. "We'll tackle that right after dinner."

Two hours later, we were out of breath and had sore muscles in our upper arms; we had actually carried about two-thirds of all the jars, wine bottles, and dry goods from the cellar to the hidden room on the first floor. The remaining third was left in the cellar to potentially offer something to looting German soldiers. It was so packed that you could barely move from the hidden wardrobe door to the bed or the makeshift toilet. Isabelle and Juliette inspected the hidden room and quickly agreed. "You should only hide here in case of emergency. You'll be keeping night watch anyway. So you should use the bed in the anteroom of the hiding place and just make sure it's always covered with the blanket in case you need to hide."

This suggestion suited me very well because, as good as my hiding place was in an emergency, it did evoke feelings of claustrophobia.

Gerard's weather forecast turned out to be one hundred percent accurate. On Christmas Day, the sky was brilliantly blue with excellent visibility, and it was truly cold. All day long, the air was filled with the drone of aircraft engines of all kinds. The BBC, whose radio broadcasts we followed every evening, had already reported that the Allied forces were launching massive air strikes against German units that had advanced far to the west; a report we could fully confirm with our own eyes.

The radio reports and the audible and visible bomber raids and dogfights between enemy fighter planes prompted Gerard to order a permanent watch around the clock. During the day, Gerard, Juliette, and I took turns every two hours at our observation post on the first floor, with the advantage that we could view the dead-end road ending at the forester's estate for more than a kilometer without obstruction.

Although Christmas Day had been very quiet apart from the aircraft movements, on Boxing Day, the noise of battle and the visible bomb and shell explosions in the dim light increased significantly.

"I have a feeling something is changing," I reported to the family at the dinner table. "It seems a force is advancing from the south, attacking the German siege troops around Bastogne."

"That would mean, in conjunction with the radio report from last night that the German advance had been stopped, that your American comrades are advancing again," Gerard mused aloud. "Then we just have to be careful not to suddenly become part of a German defensive position."

"That wouldn't be good," I agreed. "Because then we'd immediately become the target of air attacks."

Silence hung over the dinner table for a while, then Gerard clapped his old hands together. "The only road by which German military vehicles can reach the forester's house is our connecting road to the highway. Tomorrow, we must fell some large trees at the forest entrance so that the road is at least blocked for light and medium vehicles." He shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, a heavy tank would push those trees aside too. But at least it's better than doing nothing."

When I took over the night watch after midnight, I spent the first hour lost in thought. Gerard's suggestion was good and sensible. But if German soldiers suddenly appeared during our tree-felling, I'd be done for. But then I heard footsteps on the wooden stairs from the ground floor and was already looking forward to seeing my beloved.

"Hello, my love." I heard Juliette's wellknown voice. "Don't be afraid, but tonight we are two of us."

I turned around in my chair and looked into the direction of the door, but was just able to recognize two shadows walking towards me.

"My mom is joining me tonight." Juliette kissed me on my left cheeks and placed herself on my left armrest, joined by Isabelle, who placed herself on opposite side.

"I have to apologize," Isabelle spoke with silent voice, wrapping her arm around my shoulder exactly opposite of her daughter. "But I wasn't able to withstand any more after Juliette told me what wonderful lover you are."

Her words sent hot and cold shivers up and down my spine. Should I, during a cold white night after Boxing Day, make love to mother and daughter? I had already learned so much from lovemaking to Juliette, what would happen now? Even after many years I have to confess that this perspective exceeded all expectations of a nineteen-year-old private from West-Virginia. "How shall I manage this task?" flashed through my unexperienced mind. "Successive? At the time? And how?"

Juliette and Isabelle discarded their thick cardigans and pressed their warm bodies, just covered by their thin nightgowns, against my top. They kissed again both of my cheeks, warm, wet and promising. I recognized immediately that Isabelle's tits had been massively larger than her daughters.

„I hope, I don't scare you," whispered Isabelle into my right ear. "But my good old Gerad has capitulated many years ago to make love with me. I am absolutely hungry and horny, if you know, what I mean."

I muttered my consent, but in reality, I didn't know, what she meant. Isabelle must have reached her fiftieth birthday and was a hard-working forester's woman. I must confess that my mind was running riot. But it was pitch-dark, my observation room was lit by weak moon light only. This reduced my senses by one, I could only feel, smell, taste and hear. And the caressing work of Isabelle's and Juliette's hands became very effectful on my growing manhood.

„Stand up! "commanded Juliette suddenly. "We strip you down together and grant you an exceptional form of French love. Two women and a beautiful, large cock."

What followed was the greatest sex experience in my young life. Isabelle was a real artist in French lovemaking and teached her daughter incidentally a very special lesson. "You must open your throat by tilting your head back. Doing so you have a chance to ingest such wonderful cock entirely," she explained to Juliette. "Fortunately, we have enough light from the moon, so you can watch me and this beautiful cock." She turned me with her hands on my butt cheeks into the right position and demonstrated to Juliette what she had explained before. Fully erected my cock had the impressive length of 25 centimetres, but Isabelle had no problems to ingest it completely. Her tongue supported this penetration by licking the shaft from the downside.

"Oh! This is tight!" I moaned loudly after my cock's tip had reached her deepthroat.

With a smacking sound Isabelle pulled her head back until she circled my tip with her lips only. Then she repeated the procedure, getting slowly faster.

"I fuck the mother's mouth!" was my last clear thought. "Great!" Soon after Isabelle's treatment reached its target. My sperm pressed very fast upwards into my cock's shaft. Without further thinking I fixed Isabelle's head with both hands, moaned and splashed everything deep into her throat. She swallowed everything.

Gurgling and spluttering Isabelle pushed me back, snapped for fresh air and muttered fully satisfied. "Great boy. Wonderful!" She kissed my slowly weaking cock and licked it clean on its entire length. "Have you seen my dear", she murmured to Juliette. "French love can be done much more intensive. And it comes with the great advantage that you can't get pregnant." She laughed a deep and throaty laugh. "There are men who can't get enough from a good oral treatment."

„Was absolutely fascinating to watch you," confessed Juliette. "And it has made me really horny. But I have promised you that you have the first go with Omar tonight."

"Thank you, my dear. Let us see how long this boy needs to be prepared for a second stage."

"Oh! I think, he will be ready again instantly. Omar is a great guy, a real gift from heaven for all women."

Listening to the discussion between mother and daughter my ears jingled. But my French wasn't good enough to understand everything. Just the cadence of her voices gave me an idea, what frivolity they had been exchanging.

Isabelle and Juliette needed less than fifteen minutes to bring me back into action. Four hands and two open mouths worked wonders. Then Isabelle knelt into my observation chair, reached her arse out into my direction. The moon shined onto her smooth backside and gave it a shimming glance.

"Now fuck my mother until she gets really crazy," whispered Juliette into my ear. I swept her wet labium with my cock, making her even more horny. "She needs it desperately. And she should dream about this fuck until the end of her life. Your young cock shall gift her the fuck of her life. Go!"

Juliette's words had the effect of verbal aphrodisiacum. I think I had never such a full erected cock in my hand, placing it in front of her pussy entrance and pushing forward.

She shrieked out during my first attack but pushed with all power against my penetrating cock. Very soon I enter her entirely. "Oh my god," was her louder moan, "how wonderful!"

For a few seconds we stopped all movement and paused, enjoying our feelings. Then we started fucking, hard and intensive I hadn't experienced in my entire young life. My hip bones crashed into her back with a smacking sound. Isabelle pushed against me full power. I squeezed her tits with my hands and pulled her strong nipples until breaking point. This animated Isabelle to loud encouraging cries which I didn't understood but felt correctly. In the meantime, Juliette had positioned herself behind me and squeezed my balls with an additional hand job. It was unbelievable horny. The first oral treatment from mother and daughter now had a wonderful side effect: I preserved very long. My fortitude pushed Isabelle three times over her orgasm-cliff, each time heavier and shakier. With her third I reached my point of no return too. And for a second time this night I splashed my sperm into Isabelle, this time deep into her pussy.

We snuggled together in those early morning hours in my observation chair and enjoyed the intimate togetherness of three, especially Isabelle, who remained as affectionate as ever. Then suddenly, we saw a rapidly growing glow of fire on the western horizon and heard the hum of both powerful and high-revving engines.

"Bombers and fighters," was my expert comment. "Looks like they're firing heavily around Bastogne again after a few days of silence."

The military activity visible on the horizon brought our intensely erotic and satisfying moment to an end; Isabelle and Juliette gathered their nightgowns and wool jackets and went back down to the cellar. I returned to my observation post, properly dressed and ready for action if necessary. The craziest Christmas of my young life had come to an end.

Gerard did, in fact, organize the roadblock on the only access road to the forest lodge -- but without me. "We can't afford such recklessness!" he said firmly. "All it takes is one German Kübelwagen. They'd recognize and identify you as an American from a hundred meters away. And then we're all dead."

"And how are you going to cut down the trees, then?"

"The same way I've done it my whole life, young man," he replied with a grin. "With professional help from the forestry workers' cabins. They're only about two hundred meters away." Then he laughed heartily. "And you'll keep looking after our women here." So I remained invisible and inactive, bound to the house, except for the now Gerard-assigned task of 'looking after the women' -- whatever exactly he meant by that.

The next few days, nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. If we had hoped that the post-Christmas glow of exploding bombs and grenades meant another American liberation of the areas east of Bastogne, we were disappointed. Juliette reported during our regularly continued lessons that one could sometimes hear the sounds of tracked vehicles on the two country roads beyond the forest. We also repeatedly saw bombers and fighter planes in the bright blue sky, but (thankfully) they showed no interest in our forest lodge. Juliette and I resumed the nightly watch shifts alone, during which my older lover continued my education in becoming a good lover with great imagination.

And so the year 1944 ended for the Vetrone family and for me -- amid a brutal war, in the middle of a fierce winter battle, in a hauntingly peaceful forest lodge.

Of course, there was no New Year's Eve celebration on December 31st, 1944, where one could joyfully toast to the beginning of the New Year. Isabelle had gone to bed as usual, and I, too, had turned in early, knowing I had to take over the midnight watch.

"Happy New Year," Gerard wished me during the change of watch. "Let's hope that in 1945, we'll finally see peace and freedom again." He shrugged as he shook my hand. Then, overtaken by an unusual wave of emotion, he embraced me warmly, like a father. "And for you, young friend, I hope that you'll see the end of 1945 safe and sound, among your family back in far-off America. Take care of yourself when you have to return to the front."

I thanked him warmly and wished him all the best as well.

Three hours later, I received even warmer, double New Year's wishes. Juliette and Isabelle had come upstairs with three glasses and a drink that was completely unfamiliar to me until then. "This is my last bottle of champagne," Isabelle explained, but she left the task of opening it to her daughter. "I've kept it in the cool cellar all these years to open it in freedom. You are the messenger of the coming peace, and that's why I've decided to bring it out for this New Year's Eve."

Champagne really was a new experience; with the first sip, I had taken a bit too much, and the bubbles went all the way up into my nose. "That really tingles," I said with a laugh. "Funny feeling."

"We can make it even more funny", laughed Isabelle too, "but to do so we have to strip you naked rapidly." A word and a blow. Seconds later both ladies had striped me down and Juliette took immediately the initiative.

"And now: pay attention", giggled Isabelle in anticipation. She sipped some champagne from her glass and positioned herself in front of my fast-growing cock. "Gives a very special taste and very special feelings."

She placed her lips around my tip, bubbled the champagne around it and sucked my cock deep into her mouth. "The art of blow jobs," was my last clear thought, Then her blow job moved quickely into a full face fuck, ending with a fresh splash of fresh cream deep into her throat.

This New Year's night was indeed the best overture for the beginning year. Unimaginable! I fucked the mother as well as her daughter for almost three hours, my steadyfastness was a direct result of my daily sex training by Juliette.

"That was the second and last time," Isabelle said goodbye to me early in the morning. "Thank you, Omar, for letting me be an uninhibited woman once more. You were wonderful!" Then she pulled her wool jacket over her bare upper body, took her nightgown in her hand, and cheerfully went down to the basement.

"You made my mother very happy," Juliette then whispered in my ear. "And me as well." She took a deep breath. "I assume your comrades will come to free you in the next few days and return you to your official duties. Until then, we will use every available minute for ourselves. Agreed?"

I nodded my consent, took again one of nipples into my mouth, sucked it in and bit cautoiusly into it. "Nothing would please me more. This Christmas and New Year have been the best I've ever experienced. Thanks to you."

In the following twelve days, we saw German infantrymen three times, moving eastward through the deep snow along the edges of the forest. However, we saw no tanks or armored vehicles -- they seemed to retreat only along the two country roads at dawn and dusk, hiding in the forest during the day. Then, on January 12th, two American tanks and an armored personnel carrier suddenly appeared in the courtyard of the forester's house, apparently searching for German soldiers.

"I think your time has come," Juliette had said as she briefly embraced and kissed me in the hallway before stepping outside with me. I reported to the first tank commander.

"This Belgian family has been hiding me from the Germans since December 18th and saved me from capture," I explained to the sergeant who had jumped down from the turret and was giving me a critical look.

"And why were you alone in hiding, Private Bendley?" He had laboriously read my sewn-on name tag but remained suspicious.

"My truck was set on fire by German tanks on a supply run from Bastogne to our position on December 18th -- on the other side of the forest. Corporal Winters was killed. I managed to escape into the woods until I found this forester's lodge, where the forester's family hid me."

"Unusual story, Private Bendley. You were really lucky." He looked me over. "Do you have any equipment with you?"

"Only my uniform and my revolver, Sergeant. Everything else burned in the truck."

"Then hop into the transport. We'll take you with us for now until we find a location that can put you back to use."

I nodded and turned to Juliette once more. "My deepest thanks, Juliette. I will cherish the three weeks as your guest for the rest of my life."

We simply shook hands in farewell, but I saw the tears in her eyes that she bravely held back.

"Stay healthy and live a peaceful and happy life," were her parting words -- deliberately spoken in French, not English.

"Au revoir," I replied appropriately, gave her hand one last firm squeeze, and then walked to the armored personnel carrier, whose rear door opened for me.

For the next two hours, I was largely ignored -- I was the only Black soldier in the vehicle. Eventually, we reached a forward base where I was able to report in. Two days later, I was assigned to a new Black transport unit and once again sat behind the wheel of a supply truck. On my often long drives, my thoughts frequently wandered back to the lonely forester's lodge in the Ardennes -- even during the spring months that finally brought Germany's surrender and the end of the war in Europe.

I had advanced with my unit deep into Bavaria when, in the summer, I received my orders to return home -- just like so many of my comrades. On an extremely overcrowded transport ship, I crossed the Atlantic from Bremerhaven. On August 15th -- while the war with Japan was still raging -- I reached my parents' home in Parkersburg, West Virginia.

In the first week after my return, I wrote my first letter to Juliette. During my time in Germany, I had been unable to write to her -- the German postal system had essentially ceased operations, and our field post did not carry private mail to European addresses. So this letter was my first sign of life to Juliette and the forester's family, who had hidden me and introduced me to the secrets of sensuality. I put real effort into it, drafting the letter, revising it three times, and only then sending it off.

After that, I packed my things to begin my studies at a college that admitted Black Americans. Since the days of my grandfather, our family had operated a charcoal kiln and an iron foundry right on the banks of the Ohio River and had become wealthy during World War I through deliveries to the American arms industry. This had repeated during the Second World War -- black industrialists were accepted during wartime because they had become essential to the war effort. My father had been the first in our family to attend college, between the wars, and he considered it only natural that his children pursue a college or university education as well.

Because of the forest land owned by our charcoal business, I chose to study forestry -- which was complicated enough, since there was no exclusively Black college offering that major. Only a generous donation from our family to West Virginia University secured my admission.

The day before my departure from Parkersburg to the university in Morgantown, Juliette's reply arrived. The letter was overflowing with Juliette's love, which had survived the nine months since my departure without fading. But it also contained very sad news: Gerard Vetrone had suffered a stroke while hunting in late summer and died two weeks later. "Mother and I will probably leave the forester's lodge by the end of the year, depending on when the administration finds a new full-time forester to move in. We will then likely move to my uncle's farm and forestry estate between Spa and Malmedy and make ourselves useful there."

A few paragraphs later, Juliette became very personal. "Our three weeks together entirely changed how I see my future. I don't think I'll ever find a man like you again here in Wallonia. So now I'll pursue a full professional training and build a life of my own."

For two years, Juliette and I exchanged letters very regularly across the Atlantic. I was fortunate enough to find a French teacher from Canada at the college in Morgantown who actually taught me French so well that I began trying to switch languages within individual paragraphs of my letters. Juliette cheered me on like a cheerleader to keep going with it.

Then, thanks to the active and financial support of my father, I managed to secure a scholarship for a one-year study stay at the university in Liège. So, on September 15th, 1947, I once again set foot on Belgian soil in Antwerp. Despite the still visible war damage everywhere, there was a sense that the country was slowly beginning to regain economic footing. Coming from a country where skin color presented insurmountable social barriers even for wealthy industrialist families, the casual friendliness of the Flemish and Walloons was truly overwhelming. An American student who had fought as a soldier for the liberation of Belgium was treated everywhere with exceptional kindness and courtesy -- especially if he made the effort to speak French. However, this only applied starting from Brussels in the southern part of the country, Wallonia.

The first personal reunion with Juliette pushed me to the brink of personal exhaustion. "I waited two and a half years for you, Omar," she confessed to me, "and during that time, I didn't sleep with another man. I just didn't feel like it--especially after we started writing to each other. Now I want to make up for all of that with you."

During the academic year in Liège, I made the trip from my university to Juliette's uncle's estate nearly every week. My French improved week by week, thanks also to the daily demands of my studies, and I passed my exams with flying colors.

"Wouldn't you like to continue your studies here until your final degree?" my professor asked me one early summer day. "You're such a capable young man that I can well imagine offering you a position as an assistant with a doctorate opportunity at our institute after your degree."

I was thrilled, as I had already been agonizing over what would happen to my relationship with Juliette after my return to the U. S. The decision was made easier when my father agreed to the change in my educational plans. "A PhD for a son from our Black family is the highest thing I can imagine," he wrote in his letter of approval. "And for the future of our business, this can only be a good thing."

I accepted my professor's offer and stayed in Belgium.

Epilogue:

Two weeks after his graduation from the University of Liège, Omar Bendley and Juliette Colaine were married in the parish church of Spa, near the historic motor racing circuit of Spa-Francorchamps. Omar had converted to Roman Catholicism beforehand. His parents and siblings had made the long journey across the Atlantic on a transatlantic liner that had resumed regular service, making the wedding a grand celebration for both families -- though the language barrier had to be overcome with much improvisation and explanatory gestures.

Omar and Juliette Bendley remained in Liège for another four years until Omar completed his doctoral dissertation. During this time, Juliette gave birth to two wonderful daughters, which she considered a miracle. In her first, brief, and childless marriage, a doctor had told her she would probably never have children. That's why, during the three weeks at Christmas in 1944, she had recklessly exposed herself -- without any protection -- to Omar's youthful outbursts of sperm.

In the spring of 1954, the Bendley family set off for West Virginia. Dr. Omar Bendley took over responsibility for forestry in the family business; ten years later, he also assumed a practice-oriented teaching position at his old alma mater.

Personal Note:

For this story of 'War and Love' as well as all others, I kindly ask my readers for their thoughtful reviews and comments. I read them all.