Culvert Mozart Lane - chapter 1 - Sex Stories

Culvert Mozart Lane - chapter 1

... either a forge or blowtorch by the time I was thirteen. I didn’t have a title, but by my last year of high school, I guess I was a journeyman blacksmith, farrier, and mechanic. Most months we worked on a few cars and trucks, several tractors, and many plows and other pieces of farm machinery. We also shoed several horses a week. During the summertime I made a little extra money working at the farm next to us.

It was spring 1942 and my friends and I were looking forward to joining the Marines or Army, so we might get to travel and have a chance at glory and excitement. We talked endlessly about how great it would be to come home war heroes with lots of medals, so all the girls would like us. We were fools still in school, with our heads in the clouds and no idea what war really was.

We were all 18, or almost. My pal Joshua wasn’t the hearty sort and told us his well-off family was making him go to college instead. They weren’t really rich but did own the small town’s only grocery store and the only gas station. Most of my friends volunteered and went off to fight in North Africa or the Pacific. All told, 26 young men from our town served in the Second World War. To this day I remember all their names and faces. 19 of them returned as heroes. One even earned the Distinguished Service Cross, a very high honor. Three others returned as heroes missing an arm or a leg. My cousin Andrew and three others are still buried where they fell, eight thousand miles from home on an ...

... island called Tarawa.

The Sunday after my 18th birthday, our family arrived early for church. My mother and sisters went inside and my father had a serious talk with me. “Bruce, I know you fancy joining the fight. Think long and hard about it. Some boys might come back with medals but others won’t come back at all. I…” He choked up a moment, then rested a hand on my shoulder and looked at me intently. I didn’t see any tears but he rubbed the corner of his eye. “I would hate to see your mother cry for you.” It was the most emotional I’d ever seen him, and the closest he’d ever come to saying he cared about me. He was ‘Bloody Well British’ and a ‘Man’s Man’, a 250-pound blacksmith, at that.

“If you want to go to war, I understand. Adventure and glory can be appealing, but there are other things to consider.” He nodded toward Elaine, a busty brunette around 30. “Her husband kicked the bucket three weeks ago and she needs a man to help run her farm. A lad who could win her heart would have a home, a family, a sixty-acre farm, and a hundred acres of forest. Most farm owners get deferments from serving and the soldiers can’t win a war with empty bellies. Uncle Sam is paying top dollar for anything they can put in cans and send overseas. Please think about it, for your mother’s sake.” The church bell rang and we got up and went inside.

I met Elaine after church and liked her very much. She was twelve years my senior, but had a nice face and was what the fellows and I called a ...