#the clubmobile

[blakelysco-pilot]

WELCOME TO THE CLUBMOBILE

Hi friends! @winniemaywebber and I want to welcome you to The Donut Dollie’s podcast! If you’re over on Instagram, and feel so inclined, please give us a follow. We hope you’ll join us as we dive into the history of Women during Wartime both at home and on the front lines, as well as the military history that surrounds them. We’ll be covering topics from books, films and the different branches of the military that women served in to help pave the way for women today. You’ll also get special guest episodes from us with friends of the pod, as they join us to talk their favorite topics and what makes them tick when it comes to history.

So, The Clubmobile is open folks, and we hope you stop by and join us for coffee and a donut or two!

[winniemaywebber]

see you tomorrow at the Clubmobile, wherever you get your podcasts! ☕️🍩

find us on instagram, facebook and twitter!

[blakelysco-pilot]

You’re a darling for tagging us! ☺️

We’ve got this saved as one of our sources… it looks like, from what I can tell, the LIFE Magazine photographer took more photos than were used for that original article in ‘44. Those are some of my favorite pictures…

@blakelysco-pilot, @winniemaywebber, have you seen this before?

I saw it on one of the MOTA's discords, and while I've not read the article yet, I think some of the pictures may be new.

[mercurygray]

Friends, I have failed you all. I've seen a lot of posts over the last week with a lot of great biographical detail about many of the flyers and aircrew who've been name-dropped so far in Masters of the Air - and I haven't seen a single thing about the one name that is directly in the center of this blog's lane.

In Part 2, returning from their mission to Trondheim, Cleven and Egan walk into the Interrogation hut and Egan accepts a cup of coffee from a woman he thanks as Tatty. Later on, at the dance, James Douglass remarks that he will be 'coming in hot' on one of the American Red Cross women on the other side of the room, and one of his friends asks "General Spaatz's daughter? Or the other one?"

Katherine "Tatty" Spaatz was a member of the American Red Cross Clubmobile service and the daughter of General Carl "Tooey" Spaatz, who commanded the Eighth Air Force on its move to England. (General Spaatz later moved to overall command of the entire Army Air Forces in the Europe Theatre of Operations, or ETO. He is, as the kids say, rather important.)

But we're not talking about him here. We're talking about her.

Katherine was 22 years old when she arrived in Europe with the Red Cross. (One of her traveling companions that trip was Kathleen Kennedy, daughter of former U.S. Ambassador Joseph P Kennedy Sr., also coming to serve overseas with the ARC.)

The American Red Cross's mission in Europe had many facets during the Second World War - in addition to activities we might think of today, like collecting blood, providing disaster relief at home and running first aid seminars, they were responsible for collecting and distributing packages for Prisoners of War.

They also operated large canteens like the Rainbow Corner club, a recreational facility in London where soldiers on leave could get a room for the weekend, a bite to eat, and a number of other amenities. Smaller clubs called Donut Dugouts provided a space where a serviceman could always be assured of a cup of hot coffee, a donut, and a pretty girl to talk to, specially recruited for being friendly, fair, approachable, and specially trained to be the girl next door overseas. In addition to these more permanent installations, they also operated the Clubmobile service, a mobile version of their popular Dugouts that moved operations into retooled Green Line Bus Company buses to take donuts and a taste of home to the front line.

Tatty, as she was called, worked on the Clubmobile "North Dakota" along with Julia "Dooley" Townsend, Virginia "Ginny" Sherwood, and Dorothy "Mike" Myrick. Life Magazine did a full article on their clubmobile in February of 1943, which you can read online at the link. There is another lovely blog post with pictures here. She also worked for a time in a more permanent post at the USAAF base at Snetterton Heath, and was later sent to France. You can read a little bit more about her and see more pictures at her bio page at the American Air Museum in Britain website.

If you'd like more information about Tatty, Helen, and women like them, as well as the Clubmobile service, consider reading the following:

Slinging Doughnuts for the Boys by James H. Madison Battlestars & Doughnuts: World War II Clubmobile Experiences of Mary Metcalfe Rexford War through the Hole of a Donut, by Angela Petesch Goodnight, Irene (fiction) - Although this is a novel, it is based on Luis Alberto Urrea's mother's time as a Clubmobile worker and her personal papers.

[musingsofahistorymajor]

The Women of Masters of the Air -1x02 and 1x02

Women's Land Army

Red Cross Clubmobile

Women's Army Corps

[floydmtalbert]

“Frolic at the Front”

It’s a festive occasion at the Italian front as the guys and gals drag out a portable phonograph and cut a figurative rug on foreign soil. At left, dancing with Lois Berney of Fallon, Nevada, is PFC Clyde Burgess of Toccoa, Georgia. Dancing at right are Mary Ross Moen of Onawa, Iowa, and Pvt. William Maderra of Rayland, Ohio. The girls are Red Cross workers whose job is to boost the morale of Fifth Army men.

Photo by Bert Brandt, war correspondent for ACME Newspictures, c. 28 November 1943 — © Allison Collection, MacArthur Museum of Arkansas Military History

[blakelysco-pilot]

In case you missed it, I’m over here now too! Come say hi 💗

Hi Chickies, welcome to The Clubmobile! Come on in and take a look around, we’ve got fresh coffee and donuts.

This page is an extension of blakleysco-pilot (formerly ginabaker1666) and is a place for all things. My writing will remain over on the main blog, linked here for easy access if you need it. This space will be for whatever my (and yours) heart desires. There will be lots of vintage shares, wwii history, a bit of other multifandom, and most importantly, chatting! The Clubmobile is for yapping! So, let’s chat! My asks are always open for whatever you may want to talk about, ask, or share. I’m so glad you stopped by 💗

[donutdollie]

okay but COOLEST wwii clubmobile/arc military welfare fact i've picked up while i've been away from margot: THERE WERE MIXED UNITS. as in unsegregated black and white workers all working along side each other with the same people. i've seen photographic proof, including a unit section photo, which is HUGE. because yes, the military was segregated, and yes, most arc sections were too, but there were some that weren't!!!! and it isn't just a matter of two units working closely etc, no! this was something official and allowed!

[wellesleybooks]

[blakelysco-pilot]

100 paired prompts list - ¹⁶⁾ perfume oil (or frying oil, your pick) and rolled up shirtsleeves, for Val! (Whose shirtsleeves are rolled up is entirely up to you.)

Hi friend! I’m sorry this took me absolute ages, but it feels so good to come back to Val and Ev after being away for a while. Thank you for this 💗

If you asked Val DiRosano what the hardest job was at RAF Thorpe Abbotts, she would tell you the ground crews, the pilots and their crews, doctors and nurses, operators and officers in the control tower all worked their fingers to the bone day in, and day out. If you asked Red Bowman or Chick Harding, they would tell you it was the four young women who upended their lives to serve in the war effort. The girls who, without much help outside themselves, made more coffee and donuts than they had ever seen in their lives, from inside of a converted single decker bus, and put up with hundreds of rowdy men boys just to give them a little slice of Americana while so far from home, without much in return.

Every morning like clockwork, the Red Cross Clubmobile was the first to come to life on Thorpe Abbotts airfield. One of the four girls would venture out to the truck at 4:30 in the morning to begin the ritual of making the first batch of donuts and starting the coffee urns. As the donuts baked and the coffee percolated she would then set about setting out any sweets that they had on hand from rations deliveries; chewing gum, lucky strikes and if they were fortunate, newspapers from the US along with the local East Anglia paper. A water bowl for Meatball was then placed at the bottom of the stairs at the back of the truck, so he was also taken care of when visiting his girls for the day. A daily ritual that they had done for so long now, that any changes were frowned upon. All except for one.

It was stifling; the heat of the donut maker filling the inside of the Clubmobile with steam even with the side hatch open and the cool morning air outside. The base wasn’t awake yet, but Val could see the lights on in the control tower which meant that Chicky and Red were more than likely already working. The coffee urn behind her was filled to the brim, and the batch of donuts in the machine were just about finished as she moved to pull the rack for them off the storage shelf above the machine.

“Shit!”

Helen had closed up the truck the day before after a supply run from ATS, and she was just tall enough that when she put things back on the shelf, no one else could reach them.

“I’ve got it….” Ev slid behind her, one hand on her waist as he reached over her shoulder with his right arm to pull the rack down off the shelf.

“Thank you,” she sighed, dropping her head back against his chest. “Helen and her long arms closed up yesterday.”

A laugh punched from his chest, both his hands now on her shoulders as he gently squeezed, letting her relax against him for a moment. The Clubmobile stirred with life, the scent of coffee and donuts permeating the air soon to be consumed by the men of Thorpe Abbotts; but for now it was just them, in the quiet of the truck as the sun still slept. Normally when it was her turn to open the truck, Val made a point of sleeping in her own rack, but she had been out on the hardstand all night- there was a borrowed jeep and some blankets involved- and when she had told Ev that it was her turn that morning, he had simply nodded, lit them both a cigarette, and followed her on her way to work. It was quiet and domestic, the kind of thing most of the men on base wouldn’t dream of doing but Ev Blakely wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to spend a few extra hours alone with Val before he was dragged off to his office. Especially when those hours were peaceful, under the cover of dusk.

“It’s so quiet…”

Ev’s hands slid down from Val’s shoulders. A gentle squeeze to her upper arms, down again to her elbows, past the bunched up sleeves of her jumpsuit that she had rolled up until he found her hands. The only sound coming from the truck was the methodical sound of the coffee urn, and the motor of the donut machine as the sinkers baked.

“I know,” she sighed, still leaning against him, her fingers threading through his. “It’s my favorite part of the day.”

“Really?”

“I pour myself some coffee, turn on one of the records, and it’s like I’m home. There’s no war, no one looking for me to help with reports or set up for interrogation, no extra worries; I’m just Val, having coffee, reading a magazine and making breakfast.”

“Well, thank you for sharing your quiet morning with me.”

“Our quiet morning.” She corrected, giving his hands a squeeze.

“When this is all over…” Ev started, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “You can have as many quiet mornings as you want.”

“Quite like sharing them with you, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Makes me think about what it might be like when we get home. What our mornings might be like when there’s nothing to get in our way.”

“Well, I think there might be some lazy mornings in bed,” pressing his nose against her cheek, she could feel his grin widen against her skin, mustache tickling her slightly. “Maybe coffee beneath the sheets, and breakfast could be more than a donut on my way out to the hardstand.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.” Val’s voice was soft, the words colored with wonder at how intricately Everett had crafted his post-war dream. Sure, she knew she dreamed of it often, but she hadn’t expected him to have it all mapped out, and so perfectly.

“Why do you always sound so surprised, hmm?”

With a laugh he brought their intertwined right hands up, gently kissing her knuckles before wrapping both his arms, and her own, around her waist. Gently nuzzling this face into her neck he breathed in deeply, the scent of her perfume and the oil from the donuts filling the space around him. A scent that was so uniquely Valencia he thought there couldn’t possibly be anything better until she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. Now, it was her turn to nuzzle into his warmth; even though the Clubmobile was a hot box, only Everett could thaw the chill deep in her bones.

“Hmm?”

“Hmm, what?” She posed the question back to him playfully.

“You never answered my question,” he shook his head. “Why do you always sound so surprised?”

“I thought it was my job to daydream of happy ever after…”

“You can,” he tugged her closer. “But I already told you, you’re it for me. So, it crosses my mind more often than you’d think.”

“What else crosses your mind?” She tried not to think about how her mind immediately jumped to the how he could possibly want all of this with her, as opposed to the why. That being, he was not the man who hurt her, he was the man who loved her.

“Suddenly so interested…” he teased, pinching her waist gently.

“Well now that I know…”

“I think about where we might live, what we’ll do when this is all over…” he pressed his lips to her forehead, swaying her even though there was no music. “A couple of kids, if you want them…”

“Yes,” the word slipped out before she could stop it. The thought of life so peaceful with Everett making her want to go and end the war herself. “I think about that too.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“One day, baby. I promise.”

He continued to sway her as she rested her head against his chest, gaze falling to the open hatch on the side of the truck. The sun was peeking over the horizon now, and life was beginning to stir around them. The far off shouts of the ground crews, the gravel under the boots of men as they trudged from their rack to the mess hall, the grumble of Chick Harding as Meatball got caught under foot on his way from Operations. This was life now. She had spent so long thinking they had to get through the war before getting to the good stuff, but this was good stuff. A quiet morning, the man holding her, their friends, her dreams. It was all coffee and donuts and happy ever after.

Tag List: @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @bobparkhurst @rosiesriveter @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @roosevelt-stalin-cocacola @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85 @hephaestn @ktredshoes @barrykeoghussy @peachessndreamss @hellfirequinnie @spinteresting @prettyinlimegreenboots @manonsmanicmind @precious-little-scoundrel @beingalive1 @ptvstvrrr

[winniemaywebber]

the lengthy knowledge of Old Hollywood finally pays off as The Dollies discuss USO Tours, War Bonds and Hollywood Canteen.

join me and @blakelysco-pilot on 12/26 for episode 2 of The Donut Dollies Pod. We hope to see you at The Clubmobile ☕️🍩

[warrued]

i'm over here vibing getting ready to refresh everything on these two blogs because i am in my element even more than on my star wars muses.

[mercurygray]

American Red Cross Clubmobile Service Reading List

@ktredshoes made the mistake of asking me a question earlier today, and because I'm sure someone else might find this helpful, I'm putting my answer here!

Do you know where I can find background on the life/typical day of a Red Cross Clubmobile volunteer, by any chance? Was thinking maybe you might, from that post of yours the other day about Tatty Spaatz?

They Also Served (Olga Gruhzit-Hoyt) has two chapters on the Red Cross and Clubmobile Service. Our Mother's War (Emily Yellin) has one section of a chapter on the Clubmobile, which provides a nice overview of daily duties for women working on Clubmobile service, which has a more mobile component.

War Through the Hole of a Donut - Angela Petesch's letters home to her parents. Petesch served in the Clubmobile Iowa. Battlestars and Donuts - Mary Metcalfe Rexford's memoir, based on letters home to her parents. Metcalfe served in the Clubmobile Abraham Lincoln and is quoted extensively in Our Mother's War. Slinging Donuts for the Boys - book based on the letters and experiences of Elizabeth Richardson, who served on the Clubmobile Kansas City. This book tries very hard to provide context and further information about what's discussed in Elizabeth's letters home. When I Think Back - Fitje Pitt's letters home to her parents and friends. Pitts served as the director of an Aero Club for the 95th Bomb Group. The Aero Club would have been a more or less permanent installation on a given base, and I think that's the vibe that Orloff is trying to give the girls we see in MOTA. Fitje is a prodigious correspondent and you'll get a good idea of her day to day from this book.

Life Magazine also ran a full story on Tatty's Clubmobile team on the North Dakoka, and you can read the whole thing, with pictures, online at Google Books.

Every time someone brings this topic up, I feel obliged to mention Luis Alberto Urrea's Good Night Irene. While this is a novel, it's based on his mother's letters and personal papers, and it is really, really good. I know it was a book club darling when it first came out but the praise is rightly deserved. Everyone, please read this.

[musingsofahistorymajor]

The Women of Masters of the Air - 1x04

Civilian

French Resistance

Red Cross Clubmobile

Civil Defense Service Air Raid Warden

[mercurygray]

I'm making the worst face.

Diving back into my great aunt's (z"l) collection of photographs from her time as a WAC, and I think I found Spark Plug, @mercurygray??

These were taken at RAF Bovingdon in 1945 (presumably by her since she is not in them). And kitty is not named, so there's no way to say it's not Spark Plug, just saying.

[lostloveletters]

Something Borrowed (Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Michael Corleone is the last person you expect to see at your best friend Connie’s wedding, and the last thing you expect to happen upon seeing him again after so many years is spending the night together. Maybe, it'll turn into something more.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. No hate to Kay, she’s my girl, but wedding scene Michael drives me crazy🤭 She’s off living her best life elsewhere in this. Also, it was a lot of fun writing pre-everything Michael. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving unprotected sex. Light play fighting.

Champagne and giggles overflowed at Connie Corleone’s wedding to Carlo Rizzi. Plenty of red wine was passed around in pitchers for the old guard, of course. For you and the other women conscious of not staining the rainbow of cocktail dresses and flowing gowns that dotted the backyard, you opted for lighter fare in tall flutes that sparkled in the early autumn sun. 

Perhaps you were a bit too enthusiastic about the drink offerings, having already exchanged three empty champagne glasses for ones filled to the brim with glittering gold when the bride engulfed you in a hug. With a delighted laugh, you returned the gesture, kissing her cheek.

“I wanted to say thank you one more time for coming!” Connie exclaimed, her cheeks flushed pink from the excitement of the day. “God, it breaks my heart we couldn’t have gotten you a bridesmaid dress in time, but you look gorgeous.”

“Me? Connie, you look like a princess.”

“I feel like one,” she giggled.

“When you see your gift from me—I’m sorry it’s not more, I haven’t—”

“Stop it!” she scolded. “You came all the way from Europe just to be at my wedding. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

You didn’t bother correcting her. Her version of events sounded much nicer than you just got lucky with when the Red Cross put you on a boat home. “Anything for you.”

“I won’t keep you. This is probably the first time you’re eating real food in years. Mama, Sandra, and Theresa made most of it.”

Connie was right. You tried to savor your plate, packed with pasta drowned in homemade sauce, antipasto and crusty bread, and sandwiches that towered with fresh cold cuts. The Corleones knew a thing or two about good food, and had the means to pull the strings for the unfathomable ration books such a feast required.

A familiar yet unexpected voice startled you when your fork pierced a piece of mozzarella. “Is this seat taken?”

“Michael,” you practically gasped, taken aback by his even attending the wedding in the first place, but also how good he looked in his uniform. Cap tucked under his arm, medals and decorations on his chest, the photos you’d seen in the magazine didn’t do him justice. Finding yourself again, you gestured to the empty seat across from you. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but you look great,” he said, his gaze fixed on you as he set his plate and glass down. He took you in, the girl he’d grown up seeing around the house and at school, now, without a doubt, a woman.

“You too, Captain,” you said, nodding toward the double bars on his uniform.

He snickered at your little joke, making you feel a bit more at ease in his presence. “I’m surprised you aren’t in the wedding party.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was going to make it until a few days ago. I only just got back to New York on Thursday,” you said.

“You volunteered with the Red Cross, didn’t you?”

You nodded. “I was in England, and then France after the liberation.”

“Clubmobile, right?”

“Did Connie tell you?”

He shook his head, smiling the slightest bit. “All the pretty girls worked the Clubmobile.”

A mortifyingly girlish giggle escaped your lips. You quickly brought your glass to your mouth, though the champagne in it was likely the culprit of your embarrassing reaction to Michael’s compliment. Averting your eyes to the dancing guests, you tried to ignore the warmth that spread across your face.

You allowed yourself to look at him again a few moments later, relieved to find he was still sitting in front of you, amused, maybe even endeared, by you.

“You’re such a jerk, Michael,” you mumbled, only because he was your friend’s older brother, and when you were younger and starry-eyed and figuring out what it meant when your heart wouldn’t quite beat right around a boy, it was him who those tender emotions were kindled in secret toward—until you had your first real boyfriend.

He grinned at your remark, and the two of you ate and caught up in between his various family members stopping by the table to say hello. You weren’t sure what to make of his seeing you before any of them—flattered, a bit confused as well, but he laughed at your jokes and moved his seat closer to yours, so you must have been doing something right when he finally asked, “Do you want to dance?”

“I’d love to,” you said.

The chaos from Johnny Fontaine’s unexpected arrival and impromptu performance subsided when Michael led you out to dance. He held you close, the way soldiers had at the dances the Red Cross put on for servicemen, all to boost morale, or, as the war went on, to offer a break from reality. Among the many rules meant to be followed—and typically broken in one way or another in the haze of war—was to keep some emotional distance from the enlisted men, for your sake and their own, but with bodies so close together, tender touches and soft whispers over songs of twilight and moonbeams, it was tough not to be caught up in romance’s alluring snare.

Even then, with the war behind both of you, something about being in Michael’s arms made you truly understand why some girls risked their assignments for a man. There was something in how he looked at you, different from your childhood together, even from a few minutes prior. You felt breathless despite the slow song you swayed along to.

“Did you like Paris?” he asked quietly, throwing you for a loop.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Paris?”

“You were in France, weren’t you?”

“Not Paris.”

“Where in France were you slinging doughnuts, then?”

“Little villages a few miles out from the front, mostly. More cows than people, but nice enough once the fighting stopped, and it was finally quiet—as quiet as it could get, anyway,” you said. “When Connie wrote you’d been wounded, I couldn’t help but think the worst. Plenty of guys out there—well, that article sure put me at ease. All the girls were jealous when I said I knew you.” You smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright, Michael.”

He glanced at your lips, and for an aching moment you were sure he was going to kiss you, but instead he gave you a smile, one that was real and made your heart flutter nevertheless, but left you disappointed.

“Where are you staying since you’ve been back?” he asked.

He seemed familiar with the hotel you were staying in when you mentioned it, offering to drive you back after the reception ended, and Connie and Carlo left for their honeymoon. 

“It’s only until I can find a boarding hotel that has space,” you said. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be the Barbizon, but I’m not moving back in with my parents.”

“Here’s to that.”

The rest of the day and into the evening, Michael hung around you, unless he was pulled away by members of his family, each instance an annoyance to him. You knew they weren’t exactly supportive of his enlisting, but the situation couldn’t have been that bad, not since he was home, safe and sound at his sister’s wedding.

The Corleones, though endlessly kind to you, always been an odd family, and you learned through your friendship with Connie not to ask too many questions.

But Genco Abbandando was dying, and Vito insisted Michael go with the rest of the Corleone men to pay his respects to the elder. When you offered to take a cab back to your hotel, Michael promised the visit wouldn’t be long, suggesting you wait at the house with his mother until he returned to drive you into the city.

Your foolish desire to spend more time with him led to your waiting in the Corleones’ kitchen for a little over an hour, when you likely would’ve been showered and in bed in your hotel room by the time he arrived back for you, in one hell of a hurry to get you into his car and presumably get away from his family.

“Do you ever think about leaving New York?” he asked when the house was out of view.

You laughed. “Michael, I only just got back.”

“That’s not what I mean. The war—it wasn’t going to be forever, but it let you see what life could be like away from all of this, didn’t it?”

“Of course it did. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do with myself now,” you said. “How about you? Are you going back to school? Dartmouth, I mean.”

He nodded. “I start again the spring semester.” At a red light, he glanced over at you. “New England’s nice. Better than French cow country.”

“And do you suppose I could study in the department of pouring coffee and serving doughnuts?”

“You’re smart. I think you have a real future,” he said, the sincerity in his voice startling you. “All of that back there, that’s not for us. It never has been.”

You were silent for a few moments. “I guess you’re right.”

The city lights twinkling in the distance took the place of the stars they blocked out from the sky, growing larger as Michael crossed the bridge into Manhattan, the center of the universe. You’d never tell a soul how you cried just a few days prior upon seeing it again for the first time in years.

Besides his talk of the future, Michael kept the conversation light, and you could’ve sworn he was flirting with you. Working the Clubmobile, you learned quickly how to pick up on it, some men laying it on thick while others were irresistibly smooth. Michael could’ve easily just been teasing you, the way a friend’s older brother would, but when he pulled up to your hotel, either your ego or curiosity prompted you to invite him up for a drink.

You sobered up on the drive into the city, enough to remember you didn’t have any drinks in your room. The two of you would have to go to the hotel bar for that, but then you and Michael wouldn’t be alone, not how you wanted, anyway.

To your relief, he agreed.

With Michael in uniform, few questions would be asked by hotel staff as to why you suddenly had a man with you when you checked in on your own. It would have been easy to lie, claim he was your fiance who had only just gotten back Stateside. But you supposed you and Michael already looked the part, walking arm-in-arm through the lobby without an issue.

Your confidence soared on the elevator ride up to your modest room, which you let Michael into, knowing he wouldn’t judge the state of your accommodations.

“Mind if I make myself comfortable?” You didn’t wait for his answer, pulling your blouse from where it’d been tucked in your skirt. Slipping out of your heels, you sighed softly in relief.

“It’s your place,” he said, setting his coat over the chair in the corner and loosening his tie.

You grabbed his cap from where he set it down and placed it on your head, tilting the brim over your face a bit and posing in front of him with a hand on your hip. “How do I look?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, giving you a once over, “I swear I saw you pinned up in some guy’s tent looking just like that.”

You laughed, taking the cap off and flinging it aside. “Oh, I don’t even know why I invited you up here!” Your laughter faded as something in your stomach turned sour, the situation feeling achingly too good to be true. Alone in a hotel room with Michael, the two of you entirely capable of making your own mistakes on the off chance he wanted you too. “Or why you even agreed to come up.”

“I didn’t come up here to drink.”

“No, you did it to be nice, because we’ve known each other for so long…” You sighed, sitting next to him. “I always figured you thought of me as your kid sister’s annoying little friend or something.”

He shook his head, saying your name softly in either protest or reassurance. His hand cupped your face as he turned it toward him, his thumb rubbing soft circles in your cheek. “Not for a long time. Especially not tonight.”

You kissed him, hands gripping his shoulders, closing your eyes as you melted in his embrace. Your skin feverish at his touch, you shuddered when his hand slipped up your untucked blouse until his fingertips reached your bra.

To say you hadn’t fantasized about Michael would have been an unconvincing lie to anyone who dared ask, but even in your wildest dreams, it was never quite like this, so bold and irreverent in the face of the tradition the two of you had just spent the day celebrating.

“I came up here because you’re beautiful,” he confessed against your lips, “because you’re the only familiar face I saw at my sister’s wedding that didn’t make me wish I were somewhere else.”

Silencing him with another kiss, your fingers raked through his soft black hair as your body pressed flush against his, unsure if you could withstand hearing more of his tender words without falling to pieces. You couldn’t, not so early in the night, but his desire grew difficult to ignore when he pulled you onto his lap. The pressure against your pussy made you moan, and with a hasty desperation, you shimmied out of your panties as he unbuckled his belt, freeing his hard cock within a few moments.

You slipped a hand between the two of you, pumping his length, feeling the way it twitched at your touch and gasping when Michael’s hips bucked. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a whisper of an intent to devour you.

“I need you, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Need to feel you.”

Lifting your hips, you whimpered upon feeling his head brush your clit as you positioned yourself, slowly lowering as he filled you, cock throbbing against your walls that clenched around him. He assuaged the pain of taking all of him with a gentle kiss and soft praises, urging you to take your time, that you had all night together.

All night. The promise he would stay, at least until the morning, sent a teasing wave of pleasure through you. Gripping his shoulders, you tried to keep a steady pace as you rode him, wanted to show him that staying would be worth his while. He’d been right in the car, you wouldn’t be a virginal, wedding white bride. The both of you had seen and experienced too much to be considered innocent any longer, but it was something you shared, that no one else from that day would have understood.

Your thighs ached as you neared your climax, desperately chasing it despite the exhaustion that was creeping up on you. Crying out in frustration, you buried your face in the crook of Michael’s neck.

“I’m close,” you whined. “Michael, I—”

“I’ve got you,” he assured you, his hands making their home on your hips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let him guide your body, his thrusts doing most of the work while you rocked against him, seeking the friction against your clit that would bring you to release. It caught in your throat, a broken groan from your lips to his ears as you came, clenching around him, pleasure rolling through you, rattling your body like thunder. You barely caught your breath when he came, shuddering against you, practically cradling you against him as he filled you.

With a whimper, you lifted yourself off of him and rolled back onto the bed. Placing your hand on your chest, you felt your rapidly beating heart beneath your fingertips, focusing on it as it slowed the following minute or so and ignoring the stickiness between your legs, the evidence you slept with your best friend’s older brother. 

Michael leaned over, brushing back the hair that stuck to your face. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“Looking through the classifieds for a job,” you said honestly.

“Wanna put it off for a day?”

“With what money, Michael?”

“I’ll give you a line of credit.”

You grabbed one of the pillows from behind you, throwing it at him with a laugh. “Jerk!”

He grinned, pushing it aside to grab for one of your arms. You put up a weak fight, your breathless laughter giving away his almost certain win.

Having pinned you down beneath him, he pressed you for an answer. “So?” He kissed you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I guess I can clear my schedule for a dashing war hero like you.”

“Dashing, I like the sound of that,” he murmured, bringing his lips to yours again, softly, with a tenderness that promised more for tomorrow, and even the day after, if you’d have him. 

You smiled. “Me too.”