During the Second World War I owned a farm in Kent. We regularly saw and heard the Luftwaffe coming over on their way to blitz London, and saw the tracers of anti-aircraft fire as the British army tried to shoot them down.
Early one morning after one of these raids I was plowing a field near some woods, when I spotted something caught in a tree. Jumping down from my tractor I went towards the woods to investigate. As I got nearer I could see it was a parachute, and this could only mean one of two things -- a Luftwaffe crewman had baled out, or an RAF pilot had been shot down.
I carried a gun in my pocket for situations just such as these, and approached the wood carefully. I took out my gun as I drew close, and looking up in the tree I could clearly see a young German airman clinging to a branch. He seemed to be injured, and trying not very successfully to untangle himself from the parachute and the tree branches.
I stood under the tree and pointed my pistol at him, and told him to throw down any weapons he might have on his person. He must have understood English, for he threw down an automatic, which I picked up and put in my pocket. I asked him to throw down any other weapons, and a knife followed, which I kicked into the bushes.
I couldn't climb the tree whilst holding the gun, and I still wasn't convinced he didn't have some other weapon hidden somewhere. So I shouted to him that I would come and get him down, and went back to the tractor so I could go to the farmhouse and get a ladder.
When I got back with the ladder, he had hardly moved, though he had managed to untangle himself a little bit. With my gun in my hand I positioned the ladder against the tree, and cautiously climbed up to him. I had retrieved the knife from the bushes, and it proved very useful to cut him free of the parachute. Then I reached out for his hands and told him to try and climb on to my shoulders. I was taking a risk, as he could have had another knife or a gun, but so far he had made no attempt to attack me, and I could see a frightened look in his eyes. Of course this could be dangerous, he might panic at any moment.
Anyway, I got him on my shoulders and carried him down the ladder, placing him on the ground. I examined him, and asked him if he was injured. He said his leg hurt. I had some first aid training, so felt up and down his leg -- it didn't appear to be broken. There was no blood, so probably it was just bruised. With my help he managed to stand up, and with me supporting him, he limped to the tractor.
It was still early in the morning, and the farmworkers and land-girls were not yet in the fields. I had already decided this gorgeous looking young German pilot was not going to be handed over to the British authorities if I had anything to do with it. I wanted to keep him for myself!
I got him in the tractor, and we made it back to the farmhouse without anyone seeing us. I lived there on my own since my parents died a few years back, so took him inside, laid him on the sofa and asked him to take down his trousers so I could examine his leg.
As I suspected, there were only some scratches and bruising from where he landed awkwardly in the branches of the tree. I rubbed some ointment on his leg, and as I did so his eyes met mine. He was gay, I knew instantly, and he recognized the look in mine. Perhaps I was rubbing the ointment in too sensually, too gently, but as he looked at me he smiled and said: `Danke'.
`What's your name?' I asked him, and he said it was Fritz.
`Don't worry, I'm not going to hand you over to the authorities. You can live here with me if you like. I could do with some company.' I said.
His English was pretty good, and he understood everything I said.
`You are very kind. I would like that very much,' he said.
Not that I approve of what you were doing, bombing innocent citizens in London,' I said. But I guess our boys are doing just the same to your cities. Still, that doesn't excuse either of you. You deserve to have been shot down, it might have saved innocent lives.'
I thought I'd better set the record straight right away. I was not a Nazi sympathizer, nor a complete pacifist. I was rather old for the army -- in my 40s, but I knew I would have been called up had I not been in what was considered a vital occupation, farming.
I was only following orders,' said Fritz. I didn't drop any bombs, I was just the pilot.'
To me these excuses cut no ice at all. To pilot a bomber was just as bad as actually releasing the bombs, and after the War we all knew what the Nuremburg judges thought of the excuse `I was just following orders.'
I bandaged his leg up as best I could, and gave him some aspirins to dull the pain. Then I got him a hot drink and something to eat.
I'll have to hide you away in the daytime,' I said, Because the farmworkers and land-girls sometimes come in the farmhouse. But they never go upstairs. Do you think you can manage the stairs?'
He said he could, and with my help I got him up to my bedroom, which had a double bed which once belonged to my parents. I got him undressed and into bed, lending him a pair of my pajamas. He looked so cute snuggled up under the covers, with his fair hair and blue eyes. He was much younger than me, in his late 20s I should imagine. I was getting an erection just looking at him, and imagining what might happen that night when I crawled in bed beside him.
The bathroom and toilet are along the corridor, but try not to turn on the taps in the daytime, and certainly don't pull the chain in the toilet,' I warned him. If the farmworkers hear it they'll know there's someone in the house besides me.'
For the rest of the day I tried hard to concentrate on running the farm, giving orders to the farmworkers and land-girls when they arrived. At lunch-time I managed to sneak upstairs with a meal for Fritz, and he was very grateful. By now he had gotten up, and was sitting in a chair reading one of my books. I took some clothes out of my wardrobe, and told him to get dressed - luckily we were about the same size. I had already put his Luftwaffe uniform in a sack, and planned to burn it that night when the farmworkers and land-girls had gone.
At last the day came to a close, and as the last farmworkers left, I crept upstairs to Fritz with a cup of tea and some biscuits. I had locked the farmhouse for the night and drawn the curtains, so I told him it was safe for him to come down if he wanted to.
That evening we sat and talked till about midnight. He came from Leipzig, and had studied English in college. He also loved American and British films, so even knew quite a bit of Anglo-Saxon slang. This became obvious when he suddenly said:
`You like to fuck?'
I was a little taken aback by this direct question, and didn't know quite how to answer.
`Well yes, when I get the chance. But I live here on my own,' I said. I had already told him about my parents dying.
`You have no wife, no girlfriend?' he asked.
`No, have you?' I replied.
`No, but I am only 26. I think you are a little older,' he said.
`Yes, I'm 43, but I've never married. I'm not interested in girls in that way,' I said, feeling I was perhaps being too bold.
Nor me, my parents are always asking when I will get a girlfriend,' he smiled knowingly. They don't know I like men, older men. I went to Berlin once, to some clubs where only men go. I was only 16. It was very interesting. But the Nazis, they don't like these sort of clubs. They close them down.'
I had heard that Berlin was pretty wild before the War. Now I knew for sure Fritz was gay, and joy of joys, he was into `older men'.
I decided it was time we got to bed, especially as I had to be up early as usual. But the real reason was I couldn't wait to snuggle in beside Fritz. I wasn't sure what would happen the first night, if anything, but I wanted to find out.
We went upstairs, and got undressed. Neither of us bothered with pajamas, we climbed in beside each other naked. By this time both of us had roaring erections, and as I put my arms out to cuddle Fritz, he melted in my arms and we kissed passionately. His hard cock was throbbing against my stomach, and mine against his.
After we had cuddled and kissed for a while, he said:
`Barry, I want you to fuck me. Will you do this? I haven't been fucked by a man since I was 16.'
Would I do it? He had to be joking, I was longing to fuck his cute little arse. He rolled over, and I lubricated his bum with Vaseline. I gently pushed my cock into him, and he moaned with pleasure:
`Oh Barry, Barry! I've dreamt about this ever since this man I met in Berlin fucked me.'
We had a marvelous, erotic night of hot passion. I fucked Fritz four times, and jerked him off three times. We cuddled and kissed, and woke up with our arms still around each other.
Over the next few weeks we learnt a lot more about each other. Fritz had been in Berlin to visit an old schoolfriend, who turned out to be gay. They had never done anything together, but each knew the other had never been interested in girls. The schoolfriend, Klaus, took young Fritz to a gay club. They both got off with men, Fritz meeting a man in his 30s who took him back to a hotel. That was the one and only time Fritz had had sex with a man, or a woman for that matter. He had fantasized about that experience many times in the last 10 years.
He told me how difficult it was for him in the Luftwaffe sleeping in barracks with all those gorgeous men around him, and not being able to do anything. There was some horseplay in the showers, but that was all. Some of the airman talked about homosexuals with disgust, and said they were being rounded up in concentration camps, and that it served the little perverts right if they died there. No wonder Fritz and any others who were that way inclined kept quiet about it.
To avert suspicion Fritz went along to brothels with the other airmen, and even went into rooms with different girls, but he always made some excuse and paid them off without doing anything. He told the other airmen he had a girlfriend in Leipzig, and showed them a photo of a girl cousin. It was all a lie, he was 100% gay, and so was I.
I'd had a slightly easier time. My parents had given up asking why I never had a girlfriend, or why I never got married. My stint in the army in the First World War was very short-lived, as the night before I was due to be sent over to France they found me in bed with another soldier. We were both kicked out of the army, and put in prison for the duration. It was the worst place they could have put two homosexuals if they wanted to reform us, but it suited us well. We were out of the War, and we had plenty of sex in there from straight inmates starved of female company. We two were fought over by the inmates. The only problem was that I was more active than passive, but in prison I was fucked every day, sometimes by several inmates.
On coming out I resumed my butch active role again, meeting men in public toilets, and occasionally going up to London to visit the secret gay meeting places there in pubs and clubs. It was relatively easy taking someone back to a hotel room, since few people in those days thought there was anything suspicious about two men sharing a room together.
In the air-raids when I stayed in London, I found quite a bit of hanky-panky going on in some of the air-raid shelters. Most of it was between men and women, but I had quite a few encounters in the dark with other men, and on several occasions with British, Canadian, Polish and American military personnel, both in the shelters and outside in dark alleyways during the blackout. All in all, the War had been pretty good to me. Now it had given me Fritz, my German airman.
I managed to keep Fritz hidden throughout the War. Living on a farm, there was no problem finding enough food to feed him. Rations meant little to us, for I could always manage to hide away sufficient meat and vegetables for us both. Whenever he got ill there was a problem, as I couldn't call a doctor, but using my little medical knowledge I nursed him as best I could. The worst he suffered, after the initial scratches and bruising from the parachute jump, was the occasional cold, and once a sprained ankle when he tripped on the bottom stairs.
We made passionate love every night for the duration. We got more adventurous, having sex all over the farmhouse, in the barn, and even out in the open fields. His English accent became so good, that occasionally we ventured out to the nearby village together, where I introduced him as my cousin, on a few days leave from the RAF. We couldn't do this too often, as fit young men of Fritz's age just didn't get that much leave in wartime.
Once we were nearly caught in the barn, when Fritz was giving me a blow-job. I was laying back in the hay, and he was just bringing me to a climax when the village policeman shone his torch into the barn.
`Anyone in there?' he asked sternly, and I heard his gun click. Obviously he had drawn his weapon, suspecting a German airman was hiding in the barn.
`It's OK, it's only me,' I said, signaling to Fritz to keep quiet. He coverer himself with hay and I climbed down the ladder to where Charlie, the village policeman, was standing.
Oh, sorry Barry, I thought we had a Jerry in here. There were a few shot down around here last night,' he said. Never did catch that one who landed in a tree over by the woods a few years ago.'
I lost a ring today, it belonged to my mother,' I lied. I thought it might have come off in here, so I came to look for it.'
Not a very convincing story, and Charlie wasn't very impressed.
`Not much chance of finding it in all this hay. Like looking for a needle in a haystack. You'd stand a slightly better chance in the morning when there's some light,' he said.
`I know, anyway it's probably in the house somewhere,' I lied again.'But I just thought I'd look up there at the top of the barn before I went to bed. You see, I was working up there this evening, and it was just after that I noticed it missing.'
`Well, hope you find it. Goodnight, Barry, I've got to try to find those Krauts', said Charlie, saluting me as he got on his bicycle and went on his way.
After 10 minutes I climbed back up the ladder, and Fritz finished the blow-job. It seemed all the more enjoyable because of nearly being caught by the village policeman, but he knew me well and I doubt if he'd have arrested us even if he had caught us in the act. After all, he thought Fritz was my cousin, not a German. However, it would have been acutely embarrassing, and Charlie would have given us both a very stern dressing down, and warned us not to be caught in the act again.
After the War ended, Fritz and I continued to live together at the farm. Everyone thought he was my cousin, John, now released from the RAF. We ran the farm together and lived as lovers for over 30 years, till Fritz/John sadly died of a heart attack in 1975. He was 58.
I was 75 when he died, and although the sexual side of our relationship subsided as we grew older, we cuddled and kissed right up to the end, and managed sex several times a year. Since he died I have sold the farm and moved to London. I've been with rent-boys a few times, but apart from that I've been on my own. I miss Fritz very much, but at my age it won't be long before I join him and we'll be together again. I've had a good life, and Fritz has been the best part of it.