Joystick

The Eagles of 133 squadron transferred to Biggin hill, Kent, England, in May 1942.
133 was the first American squadron to be stationed there.

******************

‘Do you recognise any of it grandma?’
Jenny, my great-granddaughter, was a sweet thing and she reminded me so much of my young self; vivacious and eager.
I was a little disappointed with the trip, but not majorly so. I hadn’t really expected it to look the same. Still, I had hoped there would be similarities. But the orchards had gone, replaced by dull, suburban housing.
‘I can’t say I really recognise it sweetheart, so many houses.’
Jenny looked disappointed. She’d planned this as part of a birthday surprise, a return visit to the house of my youth.
‘Come on, let’s go to Biggin Hill, I’m sure you’ll remember something there.’
I shuffled back to the car.
‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘it’s been a lovely day and I’ve really enjoyed your company.’
As we drove along the busy ‘A’ road the housing became less dense, the land became more open and the trees more abundant. And then, familiarity. The shape of the road, the lay of the land. I recognised several houses.
‘I know that house,’ I said, excitedly, ‘I remember this road.’
‘See grandma, it was worth it.’
I remembered; the breeze in my hair, the laughter, the sun, the summer. And Johnny. How could I ever forget Johnny?

It was June 1942. I was nineteen.
‘Can I see you again?’
I hesitated, not knowing how to react. I’d never been asked out by a man before.

It was the end of a thrilling evening. A dance. The first I’d ever been to and it was the first time since the war started that I’d had such heady fun. There were a lot of men from the Biggin Hill air base, but he stood out. He breezed into the village hall with two others, laughing and loud, and every girl noticed them. They stood in the middle of the floor as if they owned the place and he looked around and his eyes fell on me and my girlfriends and a big, bright smile spread across his face. He nudged his friends and walked over to us.
‘Could you teach us how to dance?’ he said. And he was handsome. He had friendly, Clarke Gable eyes and an Errol Flynn chin. He had Hollywood style. Of course, I said yes. Coyness, playing hard to get, had its place but not if you might never see them again. He turned my head and left it spinning. He danced with me all evening.

Johnny Genarro.
‘What kind of name’s that?’ I’d asked.
‘My father’s Italian, my mother’s Irish, a passionate mix, could only produce a passionate son.’
Everything about him reflected his love of life and he just carried me along.

The orchard, that’s where he took me that first time. Mum was a bit unsure. Had circumstances been more normal I don’t think she would have let me go. But this was wartime and dad was away fighting and I think she thought why the hell not? And she could tell Johnny was okay, he won her over with his warmth. ‘We’re just going for a drive, Mrs Carter, won’t be long; I promise we’ll be back within the hour.’
And he was, although it seemed like five minutes. He picked me up in a car he’d borrowed from his base. There were hardly any cars around in those days, we had the road to ourselves. And he took me to the orchard and it was there that I tasted my first kiss. I can still taste his tongue, the shock and the pleasure, and his mouth on my neck and the thrills coursing through me. Those first few times he took me back home spot on time and left me longing to feel him again. After a couple of weeks he got bolder.
‘Is it alright if I take Janey for a picnic tomorrow Mrs Carter?’
Mum was a little reluctant but she agreed. So he picked me up, gave mum some tinned meat and he took me for a picnic and taught me how to fly.

He spread out a blanket and we sat down and then he took me in his arms. We kissed and I felt his shoulders and back and rough chin and the smell of his oiled hair and his masculinity; there was no deodorant in those days. I pressed my body into his, feeling its warmth and strength and his hands were on my hips and waist and bit by bit moved over my bottom, caressing then gripping. Without realising, I’d opened my legs and his hips were between them and I could feel his hardness and I wanted him but I knew I shouldn’t and I had to push him away.
‘What’s the matter, babe?
‘We shouldn’t, I want to but we shouldn’t.’
‘I’m sorry babe, I just got carried away, you’re so gorgeous. Here,’ he said, leaning back and spreading his legs, ‘look what you’re doing to me.’ He nodded down to his crotch. I could see a large bulge in his trousers.
‘Is it uncomfortable?’
He undid his trousers and released his cock. It stood proud and rigid in front of me.
‘Not any more it’s not,’ he said, smiling, a glint in his eye.
I’d never seen a cock before. I was surprised by its size, it looked regal.
‘Do you like it babe?’ I was fascinated. ‘Why don’t you touch it, it won’t bite?’ He laughed. I reached out and touched the tip. It twitched. I withdrew my hand, giggling.
‘Do you know what a joystick is Janey?’
I shook my head.
‘When we fly planes we use a joystick to direct the plane. You move it around to control the direction of the plane. Now, if you learn to manage a man’s joystick you can take him anywhere you want. Would you like me to teach you?’
He was still smiling that wicked smile and I laughed and nodded.
‘Okay babe. First of all take a firm grip. Go on.’
I curled my fingers around his cock and was surprised by its warmth.
‘That’s it babe, just a little higher.’
I adjusted my grip and felt the ridge of his glans under my curled forefinger. ‘That’s it babe, perfect, now I’m ready to fly.’
I could feel his cock pulsing in my grip.
‘Now babe, with a plane’s joystick you move it from side to side and back and forth, but with a man’s joystick you move it up and down. Just give it a try.’
I moved my hand, clumsily, up and down his cock.
‘Oh babe, that’s wonderful … Now, a little bit faster.’ He lay back and I watched his eyes shut and his hips push upwards as I moved my hand up and down his hard, warm cock.
‘A little faster babe, that’s it … Oh, babe … That’s it.’
And then he bucked and ejaculated a spray of white juice and he cried out and I shrieked in surprise. No one had ever told me about this. He laughed and I fell back giggling. He sat up.
‘Oh Janey, that was fantastic.’ He cupped my chin in his hand and kissed me.
Johnny gave me a lot of flying lessons after that. It was such fun. I learnt the basics first; grip, tempo, pressure, and having mastered these I moved onto other areas. And somehow my mouth was drawn to his cock. Delicious. Smooth, warm and so beautifully hard and I loved the way it deflated after I’d drawn its salty juices. Then I’d stroke it back to its full magisterial poise and we’d start all over again.

And then the time he brought me to orgasm. I was on my knees, my head bent over his lap, one hand cupping his balls, the other gripping his cock. He’d been running his hand under my dress, up and down my thigh, brushing over my bottom. I was becoming agitated, I knew I shouldn’t let him go there but my pussy was juicy and aching to be touched and I raised my bottom slightly and his fingers had eased themselves inside me. I sat on his hand and his fingers wriggled and played me to orgasm and all I could do was hold onto his cock and cry out into the summer air. After that, there was no stopping me. He christened me ‘Plane Jane’, and I got to fly him regularly, and his flying lessons became the focus of my life.

I used to see the planes flying over in formation and coming back from missions regularly, but I don’t think I fully understood the danger they were in and the crucial role they were playing in protecting the country from invasion. It was only years later that I read about the Eagles, the Americans who volunteered to fight as pilots in the R.A.F., before their country had entered the war.

I turned to Jenny. ‘I met my first boyfriend here,’ I said, ‘he was an American pilot, very handsome.’
She giggled. ‘I can just imagine you holding hands together under an apple tree, must have been very risqué in those days.’
‘Yes, I suppose it was.’
I smiled to myself. Yes, everything was very innocent then, just as sex should be, but God was it exciting and exhilarating. I’ve never topped the excitement of those first experiences. My mind took me back to that last picnic. It was the beginning of July, another wonderfully sunny day; the day Johnny Genarro flew me to heaven.

We lay kissing and, feeling him harden, I pushed away from him and began to undo his trousers.
‘Time to fly,’ I said, easing his cock from his trousers.
‘Final lesson today, Janey. If you pass this you’ll get your wings. I’m taking you further than you’ve been, so you need to trust me. Do you trust me Janey?’ His eyes had the devil in them, but a gentle devil. His cock, as usual, was as stiff as a board. I began to stroke and caress it. I hadn’t seen him for almost a week and I was already wet, I wanted his fingers inside me.
I nodded.
‘Of course I trust you,’ and I parted my legs and he eased his fingers into me. Immediately, I began to gasp and Johnny watched me, smiling. Then, just as I felt myself about to come, he withdrew his hand, rolled away from me and reached into his jacket pocket.
‘Oh, don’t stop, not yet Johnny.’ I was still gripping his cock.
‘See this Janey?’ He was tearing open a packet and from it he took out something I hadn’t seen before.
‘It’s a rubber, it means I can really make love to you and we can both enjoy it and there won’t be any risk.’
I watched as he sat up and rolled the sheath over his cock and I laughed at the sight of it and he laughed. Then he kissed me, rolled me onto my back, lifted my skirt and filled me and the sensation was indescribable and as he filled me, again and again, I kept shouting his name and then he withdrew. He knelt up and began removing his clothes and I did the same and then we lay naked in the orchard and fucked and fucked and it was glorious.

Afterwards, as I lay in his arms, he reached over to his jacket and took off a small, metal brooch.
‘Here,’ he said, laughing, ‘you earned your wings today, Janey, you flew me to heaven. I don’t think there’s another pilot that could do that.’
I pinned the broach to my dress.
‘Well, it’s a fine plane,’ I said, ‘you need a good machine if you’re going to fly properly.’
He laughed and then he said, quite seriously, ‘Janey, when this is finished, will you come home to America with me? You’d love it there and I can introduce you as the British flying ace that could fly a man to heights he’d never been and make him perform like no other. Whaddya think?’
That day was the happiest of my life.

I never saw Johnny again. He was shot down whilst escorting a convoy of bombers over Calais.
I fingered the brooch on my dress.
‘He taught me how to fly,’ I muttered.
My great-granddaughter squeezed my hand.
‘I’m sure he did grandma, I’m sure he did.’