Thursday
Chiswick
Hello My Angel,
I do love you. Have you guessed that before? Oh, sweet, my urges of yesterday are still with me. Stella, if only you were here right now I’d give you the time of your life. I’d run my hand over your silk stockinged leg. I’d stop to kiss you hard and long. I’d return to your leg and reach that dear, dear velvet thigh. You know, the nice smooth flesh on the inside. And there I’d linger such a long time before progressing to my old favourite – clit. How is she? Will she still leap beneath my caress, do you think? Oh, I know her so well that I can feel, even now, your delighted sinuous movements and, my darling, there’s so much scope on Dot’s settee for those movements. Oh, angel, angel, I can see you on it now. And how I wish you were. What fun we’d have. And yet I don’t know. Because always, at first, I just want to hold you, and kiss you, and look into your eyes. Oh, I never seem to be able to see enough of you in those first few minutes. The trouble, of course, is that I want to do everything at once. To hold you pressed close to me, to drink you in with my eyes and to kiss and kiss you. I know I have always to say to you “Don’t talk! Kiss me!” And it’s always me who kisses you. Damn you! We’ll have a good alibi when I come home this time, by the way. I should be home somewhere between 10am and 11am and as I shall have been up all night, I’ll obviously have to get some sleep, won’t I? What do you think of that for cunning? So see to it that you dispose of the children properly. You might arrange for Michael to be playing at John’s? Like you, I feel I can’t wait another 24 hours and the time is fairly crawling past. If we have to wait until February I’ll go crackers, although that is only a week longer than we expected, isn’t it?
What treats have you in store for me, love? Apart from those I will discover for myself all over again. Have you thought of any new ideas, or are you sticking like a good old Tory to the solid Johnsonian tradition? Mind you, you’ll have to be careful, for there’s a war on and if you produce too great a variety of ideas, you’ll be suspect from the word go! Although I will say that so far I haven’t discovered anyone, not even in Piccadilly, who has anything on you! My own, there’s nobody in this world or the next who will ever have anything on you. That is why I’m longing so to be home once more and to make love to you all over again. I’ll always be able to go for you in a big way, even when I have to be lifted on and off! Just think of the prospect of that first day. A “preliminary canter”, after I have feasted my eyes on you, and then I’ll have a sleep. After tea and the children are in bed, a few early beers in the Endbutt so that you can get to the three-beer stage early in the evening. An hour in the armchair, a joint bath and supper in front of the gas fire in the bedroom and then – and then! Oh, sweet, I’ll be able to bury my face in your breasts, in the pit of your tummy – that nice soft yielding part, and then make my salutations to Mary, my own beloved Mary. Oh, to feel you naked in my arms again will be a taste of all the things I’ve so looked forward to.
Sweet, before I do come on leave, will you write me a nice long coma-producing letter? It’s so long since I had one from you and I do love them occasionally.
Once we know a definite date for leave we will feel a lot better about things, for then we will be able to make some sort of plan. Oh, I do hope we get the first leave. John is crying his eyes out for you. He’s weeping right now!
Stella, it’s New Year’s Eve, a day I have always liked and from all of the foregoing you may have guessed I have a desire to spend it with you. As I can’t, I shall be thinking of you a great deal today and especially about midnight by which time you, I expect, will be sound asleep getting up your strength for when I am home! For a New Year’s wish, what shall I say? That I hope the war will be over in 1943? I can wish that but I can’t honestly say I think it will be. I do think, however, that this time next year we’ll be on the high road to victory. My New Year wish, then, is to see more of you than I have done since February; that you and the children will have the best of health; and that by this time next year we will be within measurable distance of my putting on my flannels and sports jacket permanently. And then we’ll begin to live our lives once more.
And now, love, I must to the post and then to my couch for an hour. It won’t be long now, my love, before I do all those promised things to you. All I hope is that they won’t revolt you, but I know you will suffer them for my sake! Stell, I love you. At the moment I can think of nothing but you and wonder how you are, and if you are really getting better, or if you are dissipating your energy as soon as it is built up. Don’t do that, love, you’ll need it all, you know! Take care of yourself for me, angel. Bye for now and a very, very happy 1943 to you, my sweet. Say Happy New Year to Wendy and Michael for me, please, and give them my love.
Ever your own,
Arthur X
P.S. I’ve deliberately avoided Mother in this letter. Don’t worry, I’ll write her! When are you getting your frock? We have had snow here last night and this morning but not very bad. Have you had any?
Dec 311942