A Quiet Hero

It was night and Marcel felt the familiar dread the dark brought. He was alert, listening for the sound of airplanes - the airplanes that had dropped bomb after bomb on the French countryside turning parts of his once beautiful homeland in a wasteland of craters and dead vegetation.

Marcel turned 18 last summer but looked much younger. He was told this fact was an asset during war. He had not yet enlisted or been conscripted, but still the French Army had found him. The had done their best to recruit him for a special job, but his mother had stood up to the soldiers and refused. She was adamant that her son would not enter the fight a moment before he was forced to. That all changed when a bomb landed on his family's small farm, killing his parents and injuring his sister. Not only were he and his sister orphaned, but their home was damaged, leaving Marcel without a home. His sister was still recovering in a hospital.

Marcel slept outside for three days, grieving his family and wracked with worry for his future. He had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. When he spotted a troop of soldiers filling their canteens in the stream behind what was left of his home, he approached them. A lieutenant remembered him and gave him a small slice of bread - the first food he had eaten since his parents had died. Now he was unofficially serving his country, a young man who was still a boy in so many ways. He was given a job and although was told the odds were against him, he was determined to carry it out.

Marcel sneaked into the small town with no light to guide his way. It seemed even the moon and stars were hiding, waiting for the death and destruction the war brought to cease. The buildings, at least the ones still standing, looked ominous. German soldiers could be hiding here, but he had been told that was unlikely. He approached the storefront he had been told to find; its large display window was boarded up. Maybe he was too late. Maybe the people he was told to meet had fled or had been killed.

He approached the doorway and knocked tentatively at first, then harder a second time. The door opened, but just barely, and he saw an eye peering through the crack. "What do you want," a woman's voice asked. He had been expecting a man and was thrown by this development

"Jean sent me with an important message," Marcel whispered.

"And the message?" came the reply.

"It will be winter soon," Marcel said. This is what he had been told to say. It seemed silly because winter was actually coming to an end, and he wondered why the message was so important. He waited for the response; aware he was alone on the street and worried someone would see him.

"We have dug our potatoes, but they were few. It will be a long winter," said the woman.

This was the correct answer. He had been told to flee if the response was anything else. It had to be word for word, or the contact had been compromised he had been told. "A few potatoes are better than none at all," he said.

"Inside. Quickly," the woman said as the door opened just enough for him to slip through. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside. "You're a boy!" she exclaimed.

"I'm 18, old enough to fight for my country" Marcel told her.

"But first you must deliver a message. There will be time for fighting later," she said. "I'm Elise, come with me."

"My name is Marcel," he said in reply.

"I care little about names, but nice to meet you Marcel," she said.

Marcel's eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of the space he had entered. Two candles cast a soft glow in the dark space. It probably looked better lit this way as there was just old, battered furniture arranged haphazardly around the room.

Elise led him past the furniture and through a door. They walked down a short hall with doorways on both sides. He heard people speaking in hushed, hurried tones but couldn't make out what they were saying. A door ahead of him was open and he chanced a look inside only to be shocked by what he saw. At first, he only made out a form of naked flesh, then saw it was two people. A woman was on her back, legs spread. Her body under a man whose buttocks were moving up and down as he thrust his cock inside her, grunting with the effort.

Marcel knew what sex was, but had never been confronted with it, never seen the act in progress. He was thankful for the it was too dark for anyone to see him blush. "This is a brothel," he said to himself.

"It is," Elise said from in front of him.

A new wave of embarrassment came over Marcel. He hadn't realized his comment had been loud enough for her to hear. He knew some women had taken to entertaining soldiers for money and food to survive during these difficult times. Some of the women had husbands who were away fighting the Germans he had been told. Most of the women didn't know if their men were alive or had been killed by a bomb or bullet.

Elise opened the door to a room, went inside, and adjusted the wick on an oil lantern. There was an unmade cot in the corner and a small, scratched dresser against one wall - the only features in the otherwise sad room. The smell of perfume and sweat hit him as he followed her inside.

"Sit," Elise ordered as she pointed to the bed.

Marcel was unsure of himself as he walked further into the room and approached the bed. The scene seemed too intimate. His heart pounded and despite having been cold just minutes before, felt sweat drip down his back. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his worn, threadbare coat.

"Do you know why you were sent?" Elise asked. She had a smokey voice that Marcel found attractive.

Marcel nodded. "I am to retrieve a message here and deliver it to a general in Pithiviers," he told her.

"Pithiviers is many miles away and you will travel alone. Are you sure you can do this?"

"I will do my best mademoiselle."

"You must do better than try. The message I am to give you must be delivered. If you are killed or captured many people will die. Innocent people, women and children. There has already been enough bloodshed," Elise said.

"I will succeed," Marcel said with a confidence not in line with his true feelings.

"Good," Elise said. She walked to the dresser, opened a drawer and took out an envelope that was wrinkled smeared with dirt. "Guard this with your life. It is in code, but that does not mean the Germans cannot decipher it if they were to get their hands on it."

"It would be better if you read it to me so I can memorize it. The message is safter in my head than in my pocket," Marcel said."

"And how long would you keep the message secret if you are tortured by the Germans?"

"They cannot break me," Marcel said.

"They can and will. If the enemy finds you, hide the message and destroy it if you must as a last resort. I see the wisdom of choosing you. You look like a young peasant boy, of little consequence to the war. If anyone finds you, tell them you are just a boy looking for his lost family and searching for something to eat. You must be convincing. They must believe you are not a soldier and are not a threat."

"I am not a boy any longer but will lie and say that I am younger than my age," Marcell said.

"You should leave soon, before it gets light. Would you like to spend time with me or one of the other women before you go?" Elise asked.

Marcel felt his face turn red. He knew what she was asking and looked at Elise closely for the first time. Her smooth black hair framed an oval face and broad nose. She was not feminine in the conventional sense but could see a weary beauty that soldiers likely found attractive. Her grass-green eyes seemed to look through them. Her dress was low cut and he saw the curve of her large breasts, the space between the orbs was inviting.

"I must go as soon as possible," Marcel blurted as he stood from the bed. "I thank you for the offer, but I will not take advantage of your kindness or overstay my welcome," he said with all the composure he could muster.

"You say you are no longer a boy, but you have never been with a woman, have you?" Elise asked.

"I have!" Marcel said.

"It makes no difference to me, so you need not lie. I can tell you have not. Fuck me or don't, it does not matter to me one way or another. You would not need to pay."

"Again, thank you, but I must be going. I have a long walk ahead, and as you have told me, I must be successful."

"Then be off. May luck and skill be on your side. Come back to visit when the war is over," Elise said. She approached him and undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Before Marcel could protest, she shoved the wrinkled envelope inside before rebuttoning them and buckling his belt again.

"I will," Marcel said, but as he made his way out of Elise's room and down the hallway toward the door he knew he would never see her, or this place again.

Elise handed him a cloth bag she said held some food and a knife. He also gave him a jacket, worn but warmer and less worn than the one he currently wore. "It is not much, but it is all we have. Nice to meet you, Marcell," she said as she opened the door and quickly pushed him outside.

#

The journey was arduous. Marcell walked at night, listening to any sound that may be soldiers. In the dark he would be considered an enemy to anyone that saw him, regardless of who they fought for. They would shoot before asking questions. Even the residents were quick to protect their land, so death by friendly fire was as likely as being gunned down by the Germans.

He tried to hide when the sun began rising from the horizon, sleeping fitfully and only for short stretches. His nerves would not let him relax. His mind kept telling him he was not up to this task and that he would fail. Elise had been right; he was a mere peasant boy thrust into an impossible situation with little chance of survival. He was always hungry but couldn't eat. Thirsty, but the last water he drank came back up almost immediately.

His fourth night had been the worst. His feet were blistering, his legs sore. He heard planes approaching, he burst into tears. "Not bombs. Not tonight," he said aloud. But fate didn't listen to Marcel. The first explosion nearly knocked him off his feet as the ground shook beneath him. He found shelter in a ravine, icy water seeping into his shoes and making his feet numb. Marcel cried as hard as he had cried as a young child.

The bombing stopped after what felt like days, but he knew had only been hours. Leaving the ravine, he was shocked at how the world around him had changed. Bomb craters surrounded him, trees toppled and crop land destroyed. Cold stinging sleet pelted his face, and coupled with his wet feet, made him shiver uncontrollably.

The bombs had cost him valuable walking time, and he knew he had to keep going, even if it meant being exposed in broad daylight and becoming soaked by the sleet. If this area were bombed, there had to be a reason - a town or village must be nearby. He had little money but hoped that an innkeeper would take pity on him or at least let him warm himself sitting by a fire, but he saw only destroyed houses, no village.

He had been walking for five days and things felt bleak. What little optimism Marcel felt evaporated when he heard voices, unmistakably German. He ducked and looked the direction the voices came from. He could see the soldiers through a line of trees and saw them eating and drinking around a small fire. They laughed and joked as if they were invincible.

As quietly as he could, Marcel snuck across the road and disappeared into a small wood. The tall, brown grass was wet, but it hardly mattered since the freezing rain had already soaked through his clothes. Brambles tore his hands and cut his face, but he didn't stop walking. The heat his body generated through movement was his only defense against succumbing to the cold. He was nearing a clearing and stopped a moment to decide what he should do next when his world began spinning. Not willing to give up, he kept walking, bumping into tree trunks that each time sent him in a new direction. He was bent over when he left the cover of the trees but knew he had to keep going. His vision blurred and he fell, his head hitting a stone hidden beneath a layer of snow.

#

Marcel opened his eyes and was convinced he had died. An angel with striking blue eyes was staring at him, her fingers stroking his frozen cheeks. "Get up, you must walk," the angel said.

"I can't walk. I can go no further. I have failed and now I will rest," he said.

"Get up and walk with me. It isn't safe to stay here." The angel was beautiful, but why wouldn't she let him stay here? She was pulling on his arm, and he struggled to sit up. He had to wait for his dizziness to subside before forcing himself to his knees. When he was finally on his feet the angel draped one of his arms around her shoulder and forced him to walk. He leaned against her body and forced one foot in front of the other not knowing if he was being brought to heaven or hell.

#

Marcel came to wrapped in rough, wool blankets next to a stone fireplace. If he was dead or had been captured, didn't care. There was a fire, but the heat did little to warm him. He was shivering so hard he heard his teeth clinking together.

Two women, one older, one the angel that had come to him, stood by a tin tub. The older woman poured steaming water from a metal bucket, as she chastised the angel. "It's too dangerous to bring strangers to our home Gisele. What were you thinking. Now a fire? The smoke will bring soldiers," she said.

"He needed help, Momma. He was going to die alone in the snow," the woman who must be Gisele replied.

"We don't know who he is. He could be a bad man. You brought him here anyhow. This recklessness could get us killed."

"Look at him. He has a good face. He is a countryman, not a shoulder. His clothes are old and worn. He needs our help," Gisele said.

Marcel listened without making a sound. At the mention of clothes, he realized he wasn't wearing anything under the blankets. How had he gotten undressed?

"He may still die, and then what will we do with him?" the mother said.

"I have no intention of dying," Marcel croaked.

"Momma, he's awake," Gisele said.

"Help me get him into the tub," the mother said. "He will get him warm and as soon as his clothes are dry, he must leave."

"Come," Gisele said to him motioning him to his feet.

Marcel kept the blankets tightly around him and got to his feet. He staggered as he took his first steps toward the two women. "I just need to get warm, and I will be on my way. I have a mission and don't want to bring you trouble," he said.

"A mission he says," the mother snorted. "What mission would a common boy have?"

"Please, just help me and you will never see me again," Marcel said.

The mother came to him. She had blue eyes and light brown hair that matched her daughter's, but her eyes were wary where Gisele's looked concerned for him. Both women were pretty, the prettiest Marcel had ever seen, but he could see the war and lack of food had taken a toll. t

"Off," the mother said, pulling at the blankets.

Marcel wasn't in a position to protest, but still he refused. "I will be naked," he said.

"That is how everyone takes baths. You will shake to death if you don't get warm," the mother said.

"Look away," Marcel said.

"Pfft, look away, he says. Who took your clothes off? We have already seen you naked. Now get in the tub."

Still, Marcel hesitated. His mother and sister were the only women who had ever seen him naked until the previous summer.

#

Four Months Earlier

Marcel's mother announced the family was going swimming for his18th birthday. He loved days at the lake, but it wasn't the way he wanted to celebrate becoming an adult. He had become more self-conscious as he'd grown older and asked his mom if she could sew him a pair of shorts before they went.

"Don't be silly," she said. "You've never worn a swimsuit before. No reason to start now. Besides, your father won't be wearing one."

His mom and sister always wore homemade swimsuits, but for as long as Marcel could remember, he and his father wore nothing at all during their days at the lake. His sister was two years older than Marcel and in recent years it seemed unfair that he was naked and she wasn't. His father seemed comfortable being naked in front of his family, both in and out of the water. He would lay on a blanket next to his family and eat the picnic lunches his mother had packed, his hairy chest as well as his ass and balls on display.

When his birthday arrived he and his family indeed headed to the lake. His father took off his clothes on the shore, and feeling he had little choice, Marcel dutifully stripped as well. He noticed his sister look at him and glance at his dick and balls before quickly looking away, but she made no comment.

He and his sister headed for the water and waded up to the waists. "I saw you look at me," he practically growled at his sister when they were out of earshot of their parents.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"When I took my clothes off. You looked at me," Marcel said.

"You're my brother, I was just looking at you. And you were naked, so what. It's not a big deal. Dad took his clothes off too, and he doesn't care if anyone looks at him naked."

"I wish you wouldn't. I don't know why I can't wear a suit."

"None of the men in the village wear suits. You know that. Besides, you shouldn't worry. I just noticed your hair got thicker down there since last summer and your prick is bigger than Poppa's now."

They were eating their lunch when another family walked along the shoreline. Marcel announced he was going swimming again and hurried back into the water before they got close enough to see him. It was a small close-knit village and he knew he would know whoever it was who was approaching.

He heard his father greeting them as he stood from the blanket. Marcel was right, he knew the family and was horrified that it was the family of twins Margaret and Odetta. They were the same age as his sister and the three had been friends since they were kids. Marcel's dad was engaged in a conversation with the family, seemingly unaware he was naked in front of Margaret, Odetta, their mother and father.

His father waved to Marcel telling him to come say hello, but Marcell shook his head terrified by the thought. "Don't be rude," his father said.

Marcel's sister didn't help. "Come say hi, Marcel. You shouldn't ignore my best friends."

"You can't stay in the water all day," his mother said. "Come say hi and then you can finish your lunch."

Reluctantly, Marcel walked onto the lakeshore, droplets of water falling from his body as he approached the family. He politely shook hands with the father and said hello to the women. The conversation about the weather and village gossip continued, although he did see Margaret and Odetta look at sneak glances at his body. Their mom was the most obvious, smiling as her gaze lingered on his cock.

Present Day

The mother pulled the blankets off his shoulders and he let them drop. His teeth were still chattering, and he knew his best hope to get through this was to get into the hot water and get his body temperature up, modesty be damned. Gisele turned away and didn't look at Marcel again until he was in the tub, his cock and balls hidden beneath the water.

He felt as if his skin was being set alit with liquid fire as he descended into the steaming water. The mother pushed on his shoulders, trying to get as much of his body submerged as the tub would allow. Gisele soaked a small towel in the water and began smoothing it over his cheeks and forehead.

Each time the water began to cool, Gisele scooped a bucket from the tub and returned with another bucket that had been warmed by the fireplace, always averting her eyes while she did so. Marcel knew he looked rough, but he hadn't realized how thin he had become in the past weeks. His ribs jutted out noticeably from his sides and his stomach seemed to sink within itself.

Marce began feeling better. His fingers tingled to the point of pain, but he knew this was a part of the process and normal feeling would return. He was just about to ask the women to look away so he could get out of the water when there was pounding at the door. A man shouted "Achtung! Mach die Tür auf."

"It's a soldier. He is telling us to open the door," Giselle whispered.

"Get out. Get out of the tub," the mother told him. "Stay quiet and get dry. Come with me."

Marcel stood as Gisele handed him a towel, looking at the floor instead of at his body. He dried himself quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist before walking toward the mother who was motioning frantically for him to go to her. She lifted a rug and bent to open a cellar door. Marcel wasted no time before crawling down a set of wooden stairs below the floor. The door above him was put back in place and he was left alone in pitch blackness. He was sure his beating heart would be heard from above as it pounded inside his chest.

He had put these women in danger, and he was afraid they would pay for their kindness. He could hear shouting above him but did not understand what the soldier was saying. The women were talking in raised voices, but he couldn't make out what was being said. There was a loud thump, and he heard one of the women scream. Fear paralyzed him, but Marcel couldn't sit in this cellar and do nothing. He crept up the stairs and lifted the cellar door slightly, just enough to get a view of the scene.

The mother was lying on the floor, blouse torn to expose her breasts. She was pleading with the soldier who was unbuckling his belt. He removed it and whipped it toward the mother, hitting her in the face. The poor woman let out a yelp of pain and began sobbing as she held her hand to the cheek where the belt had struck her.

The soldier let his pants fall to his ankle exposing his buttocks. He grabbed Gisele and forced her to her knees, speaking in German and gesturing toward his midsection. There was little doubt what the soldier was telling her to do.

Marcel threw the cellar door open and burst out, charging the soldier. Hearing he commotion the soldier turned just as Marcel collided with him with as much force as he could muster. Marcel and the soldier were on the floor wrestling, but the German was the stronger of the two. Marcel was soon on his back, the soldier holding him down and had his hands around Marcel's neck, fingers pushing on his throat. Marcel was losing consciousness when the soldier let out a cry of pain and rolled off. Gisele stood above them holding a fireplace poker. She had hit him across the back, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to keep him down for long. The towel fell from Marcel's body when he stood, but he didn't register it. He grabbed the poker from Gisele and brought it down on the soldier's forehead. The soldier cried out in pain and held his hands out trying to thwart another blow. Marcel swung the poker again. It connected with the soldier's forehead and his body went limp, unconscious from the blow. Marcel struck him again. Then again.

It was Gisele that told him to stop. The soldier was dead. Marcel knelt and checked for a pulse; Gisele was right. The man was dead. Marcel collapsed to the floor. Lack of sleep, food and water had weakened him and swinging the poker had taken all the energy from him.

The mother helped to his feet. "Help me get him to the bed," she told Gisele who was openly gazing at him standing naked in the middle of room. He couldn't read the look on her face but thought it was fear. Was he scared of him? Of the way he had just killed a man? His heart broke to think this lovely woman would fear him.

He let himself be led to bed and was soon asleep. When he woke up it was dark. "I need to go. I have an important job, and I have caused you problems. My clothes must be dry by now. I will leave you," he said.

There was still a problem, however, and the events came back to Marcel in a rush as he saw the dead German on the floor. "What do we do with him?" Gisele asked.

"I'll bury him by the woods," Marcel said, "and we won't say a word to anyone about this. Others might come looking for him. You will need to lie to keep our secret."

Marcel ate a bowl of vegetable soup before setting out toward the woods with a shovel. He worked quickly, lost in thought as he dug a hole deep enough to bury the soldier. He waited until it was night before dragging the soldier to the grave.

Saying goodbye to Gisele and her mother was hard, and he ached for them. They had been through much and will likely face more perils before the fighting ended. He wanted to stay and protect them but knew he couldn't. He would return as soon as he could, he told them.

"Promise?" Gisele asked.

"I promise. I have one thing to do and then I will be back."

#

Marcel walked through the ruined countryside, sometimes he saw dead soldiers, other times he only smelled their decay. Gisele and her mother were never far from his thoughts. He would make good on his promise and return to them. He hoped Gisele would understand he had killed the soldier to save her, that she would one day forgive him. He was not a murderer, but the man's actions had made him so angry he couldn't stop himself.

Three days after leaving them, Marcel came to the outskirts of Pithiviers. No one in the town seemed to notice him as he walked the streets looking for his destination. To them he was just another hungry and lost person, somehow managing to survive the hell that had come to them.

The house he was looking for was guarded by two French soldiers, both lifting their rifles as he approached. Marcel put his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. "I have a message for the general," he said.

"And the message?" one of the guards asked.

"The geese are laying eggs again." Marcel said.

"One moment," the man replied before disappearing inside the house.

Marcel waited until the soldier returned and gestured him inside. A man was waiting inside, older than other soldiers he had seen.

"Will autumn come early this year," the man asked.

"I have yet to hear the cicadas," Marcel replied.

The man held out his hand and Marcel dug the envelop out of his pants. It was even more wrinkled now and had been wet and dried several times. He hoped the message inside could still be read. The man took the envelope and disappeared into another room. Marcel waited, not sure what he was supposed to do now that he had done what was asked of him. A few minutes later the man returned and whispered to the soldier that had led Marcel inside. Although he was sure he wasn't meant to hear, he heard perfectly. "It's the American's. They are coming."

#

The promise to return to Gisele haunted Marcel. Weeks passed. Then months. There was another message to deliver. Then another. Soon he was fighting alongside the American's, driving the Nazi's back to where they came. Day after day of bombs exploding and machine guns firing. He dreamt of bullets finding him, waking in a panic. Still, he thought of Gisele - the way he thought she had been an angel appearing upon his death. He was sick of war, of the brutality humans could inflict on each other. There was always fleeting hope that he would see Gisele again, but the thoughts were always followed by the realization he may not live long enough to fulfil his promise to her.

He didn't hear the bomb explode, didn't remember his body taking flight only to land roughly on the hard ground ten feet away. He only knew it happened because he was told in a hospital once he regained consciousness. He had been in a coma for nine days, they told him. The war was over; the Allied Forces had been victorious. He just wasn't awake when it happened.

For Marcel, there was no celebrating in the streets. He was learning to use a badly damaged leg and was told he would likely always walk with a limp. He told the doctor he had to get out of the hospital as soon as he could, that he had a promise to keep. The doctor finally relented and released him, saying he should stay off his leg as much as possible. Marcel nodded and assured the doctor he would, but he found a map and started another journey as soon as we walked out the hospital doors.

#

Marcel didn't let the pain slow him. He walked the miles as quickly as his wounded leg allowed. He found the line of trees he had heard the Nazi soldiers and crossed the road through the woods that had hid him and led him to Gisele.

Their house was still there, but no one answered when he knocked. He walked behind the house, but still there was no sign of Gisele or her mother. He walked to where he had buried the Nazi soldier. The grass had grown over the grave, keeping the secret of what was hidden beneath.

The house didn't look abandoned. Someone was living there, but it was impossible to know who. He wandered a path looking for any sign of Gisele. He saw the pond as he crested a hill and thought he could rest by the water while coming up with a plan of what to do next. He thought he heard laughter in the distance. He was drawn to it. He had gone nearly two years without hearing people laughing, had seldomly even seen a genuine smile.

As he got closer, he saw a woman standing at the edge of the pond. Her back was to him, but she could see she was completely naked. Her bare back was golden brown, light brown hair cascaded down the woman's shoulders. He knew it was inappropriate to look upon an unsuspecting naked woman, but he couldn't stop staring as he walked closer. The woman's hips curved out from a narrow waist, and he gazed at the woman's ass. His heartbeat quickened. He knew. This was Gisele. He had found her.

He hadn't noticed a second woman in the water. "Gisele!" the woman shouted and pointed at him.

Gisele turned and at once used one arm to cover her breast and the other to hide the patch of brown hair between her legs. She began to say something, a warning for the stranger approached to look away while she grabbed something to cover herself to stay away, maybe. As he got closer, her eyes narrowed. "Marcel?" she asked. Forgotten was her modesty as her hands went to her cheeks as she cried in disbelief.

Then, without warning she ran to him, tears streaming down her cheeks as she threw her arms around him, hugging him in a long embrace, then kissing him. A quick peck, then her lips were on his again, this time staying there, in a long series of wet kisses.

Her mother waded out of the lake, and she too ran to him. Her breasts bounced as she moved up the bank. "Dear man. My dear man," she said and soon her arms were around him, too. She peppered his cheeks with kisses as the water dripped from her body onto Marcel's clothes.

"You're alive!" Gisele said. I was so worried. I thought about you every day."

"I thought about you, too and never forgot my promise to come back to you. I'm sorry it took so long," he said.

After some coaxing Giselle helped Marcel out of his clothes and three spent an afternoon swimming and laying on grass near the pond. Gisele's mother didn't seem to mind when she and Marcel laid together on a blanket holding hands, letting the sun heat their naked bodies. Marcel's mother stayed naked with them as well. She seemed to enjoy the happiness of the young couple, smiling at them as they tentatively caressed each other's bodies.

Gisele's mother laughed when she noticed Marcel's erection and announced it was time for her to go back to the house and make them something to eat. Marcel embarrassingly rolled on his side away from her, but then Gisele saw what Marcel was trying to hide from her mother, and gasped. "I'm sorry, Marcel said to the women."

"Don't be sorry," the older woman said. She let out a burst of laughter. "Young love," she said. "You two stay. I will have a meal ready soon. You will stay with us, Marcel.

When the woman was gone, Gisele kissed Marcel, her hands all over his body. He touched her, tentatively at first, then more boldly as she moaned softly and didn't protest. When he kissed one of her nipples and took it in his mouth she sighed. "I like that," she said, as she reached down to wrap her hand around his hard cock. She stroked him and he thought the way he was feeling would drive him crazy.

He had a quick vision of the soldier's buttocks moving up and down, the naked woman lying beneath him. Marcel rolled on top of Gisele, and she spread her legs to welcome him. The two didn't stop kissing as he moved his cock against her, its tip finding the warm, wet slit between her legs.

"Please," she gasped.

Marcel didn't know what she was asking. Please stop? He hesitated, opening his eyes to look at Gisele, their eyes locked. She reached her hand between them and guided him insider her. "Slow," she said. "It is my first time."

"Mine too," he replied.

There was resistance at first and he felt Gisele wince. He was suddenly ashamed of himself. He had hurt her and that was something he had promised himself he would never do. "It's okay, don't stop she told him."

He moved his hips toward and away from her, moving inside her. He had never felt anything this close to paradise, he thought. Gisele's breaths came in quick bursts as he thrust. All too soon Marcel felt the sensation of an orgasm coming. He had masturbated and knew what to expect, but this was a new experience. His cock jerked inside of her as he felt himself let go. The two held each other until he softened and slid out of her.

"Are you okay with that happening?" he asked her.

"Yes. It is very okay. Wonderful. I dreamt of you making love to me for so long now. I had almost given up on it ever happening. I wanted you to be my first. Now, we should get back, Momma has been working to make a meal. We shouldn't disappoint her."

#

Gisele and Marcel slept on the floor that night, her mother snoring softly from the bed in the corner. They fell asleep holding each other and by morning neither of them had moved.

"Young love," Gisele's mother said as she woke and saw them together.

The three went swimming in the pond again the next day, and the day after that. Each time they stayed naked as they ate lunch on the bank, Gisele's mother leaving in the late afternoon to prepare a meal. Gisele and Marcel stayed behind and were making love the moment the older woman was over the hill.

The second time was better than the first, Gisele insisted it did not hurt and he could go faster. He knew he would never forget the way Gisele smiled while he was inside her. As he made love to her, she began taking slow, deep breaths, and moaned, quietly at first then got louder. "Marcel, Marcel," she repeated before she bit his shoulder as a muffled scream escaped her. She began laughing and told him to stop. "I'm so sorry, I should not be laughing," she said.

"It's okay. Are you okay?"

"Yes," Gisele said, still giggling, "what just happened is what Momma told me about. But it is more than she said, I think. Way better."

Gisele rolled on her belly and Marcel climbed onto her back. He brought his cock down the crack of her ass and found her pussy, pushing himself inside her once again. Gisele pushed up against him until she was on her elbows and knees as Marcel thrust against her, his pelvis slapping her round ass as she moaned and encouraged him to go faster. He came inside her again and nearly collapsed, the energy drained from him.

Marcel learned Gisele was full of surprises on the third day. After her mother had left they lay side by side on a blanket holding hands until hers broke away and moved down his body to his cock. She played with him until he became hard. She kissed him, then kissed his neck and kept working lower until she playfully stuck her tongue in his belly button. But she didn't stop there. Her kissed moved lower still until she kissed the tip of his cock. Marcel thought to stop her, but he was speechless. What was she doing?

He glanced down at her just as the head of his cock disappeared into her mouth. Marcel gasped and reached down to stop her. "Shh now, Marcel. It's what the Nazi soldier wanted. You saved me then. Let me try for you."

Gisele was tentative at first but kept taking him into her mouth, then licking the length of his shaft. Marcel could not believe how good this felt and soon was at the edge of orgasm. "Gisele," he said, "stop, I'm going to..." but it was too late, he spurt come into Gisele's mouth, then another, and another. Gisele rolled on her back and was overtaken by a fit of laughter. "I did it," she said when she could breath again, "I swallowed it."

They didn't go swimming the following day. It was time for work, her mother said. They turned soil and planted a large garden. They walked to the village and made inquiries and soon had the name of a farmer who may be willing to sell them chickens. Marcel scavenged wood from destroyed houses and began working to build a chicken coop.

Gisele and Marcel hadn't been alone together all day, hadn't given each other more than a quick kiss as they worked. They crawled under the covers that night, tired but wanting to enjoy their togetherness. They kissed, and Marcel's hand moved to the special spot between Gisele's legs. "Wait until we know Momma is asleep, then we will," Gisele said.

"Young love," she heard the older woman sigh from her bed. "Go ahead, make each other happy, pretend like I am not here. It's okay."

"Momma!" Gisele said.

"I don't care. You should make love as much as possible while you're young. Really. Go ahead."

Marcel wasn't sure if they were being watched or not, but the idea got him hard quickly and soon he was between Gisele's thighs, his cock deep inside her. He fucked her slow at first, then was moving faster, thrusting into her harder than he ever had before. Gisele bit his shoulder to keep from screaming as she orgasmed. Marcel was not far behind and came inside her. He would never get tired of making love to this beautiful angel.

#

Five years later

Their life fell into a rhythm. It wasn't easy, but they planted a larger garden every year. The chickens multiplied and they had eggs and meat to eat. Gisele's mother pulled Marcel aside early in their first year together and told him he should marry her daughter. "The way you two fuck, there will be a baby soon, and Gisele should be an honest woman."

The wedding was modest, as they wasted no time before saying their vows. There was little time to prepare before they became husband and wife. The woman had been right. It wasn't long before Gisele was pregnant and then gave birth to a son.

Marcel added on to their small home. In their third year together, a daughter arrived. Visions of the war's horrors visited Marcel often, but he worked hard to provide for his family.

Marcel went to the backyard one particularly hot summer day. His mother-in-law was naked, dunking dirty clothes into a basin, then pulling them and wringing the water from them. She walked the clothesline and began hanging the laundry.

There was no need to give the woman privacy. They were not a modest household and swam, bathed and changed in front of each other. "Momma, I want to tell you about the war. The things I saw. I killed more men than just the Nazi soldier in your house. I'm not a good man. You and Gisele should know."

"Sush now," she said to him. "It does not matter to us. War is an ugly thing. Men do things they would never think to do normally. You did what you had to do. Remember, you found us. You saved us from the Nazi soldier. Nothing else matters to me or to Gisele. You are a hero in the eyes of your country and to us you are even more than a hero."