The Story of Danny Dunn (14 page)

While Danny knew Adams had a job to do, he really didn't much like the way this bloke from Melbourne had gone about examining him. Apart from regular grunts, he hadn't said a word. Danny, sore from being prodded and poked as if he were a piece of meat, was not just annoyed, but felt Colonel Blimp's complete lack of regard for him as a person differed little from that of the Japanese.

Dr Adams returned to sit at his desk, hands clasped and resting on his extensive belly. ‘Ha! If I'd rammed you into a brick wall face first at sixty miles an hour I couldn't have done a better job, Mr Dunn,' he announced happily. ‘As for that smashed cheekbone,' he frowned, ‘I just don't know. Maybe they can reconstruct it, put in a plate . . . can't say, not my area, what? The left eye, of course, is gone forever, but I should think they'll fit you with a marble, eh? Never convincing, in my opinion, no natural movement, you're looking to the right and it's looking left, ha, ha. The nose? Not much a plastic surgeon can do, I shouldn't think; a little cosmetic reconstruction perhaps. We'll have to remove most of the broken bone, then attempt to open up the sinus passages. It's a big job – skin grafts, rearranging the tissue mass, never going to look much good.' He paused at last. ‘Well, that's all, Mr Dunn. You are free to go.'

Danny rose and, attempting to conceal his anger and humiliation, said in a steely voice, ‘You're in luck, doctor. I'm still in the army. Had it been
Mr
Dunn, by now your nose would have been in a very similar condition to mine. Let me assure you, you fat arrogant bastard, it won't be you who gets to work on my nose!'

On the morning of the 6th of November 1945 Danny disembarked from the
Circassia
, a troopship that had begun life as a passenger ship, one of the many requisitioned by the Australian army to bring our prisoners of war home. A huge crowd stood on the dock at Circular Quay to welcome the boat – whole families, sweethearts, wives, children – an aggregation of joy, laughter and tears as beloved sons, husbands, fathers and brothers were reunited with their families that came close to bringing Danny to tears of self-pity. There would be no one to meet him because he'd deliberately asked the army authorities not to inform his family of his arrival. He'd written to Brenda from the hospital in Rangoon.
I have a crook back and my mug's been rearranged a bit, so don't expect the old Danny boy.
I'm not sure when I'll be home.

Brenda had replied to say how overjoyed they'd been to hear he was still alive, and that no matter what, he was still her son and she'd love him in any shape in which he came back to her. She also said that Helen Brown had asked if she could write to him. Half Dunn, adding to the letter, wrote to say that since the army had notified them that he was alive the pub had been completely repainted and renovated in anticipation of his return and that Brenda had ordered enough flags and bunting for the welcome-home party to match the launch of the
Queen Mary
.

The Cinesound newsreels played every Saturday night along with a movie at the hospital had shown the ecstatic crowds at the dockside welcoming the returned soldiers back home. They'd been warned to expect an even bigger welcome for their own return as prisoners of war from South-East Asia. Danny simply couldn't bear the idea of his mother waiting excitedly on the dock with Half Dunn and possibly Helen, then seeing him, a walking fucking nightmare, emerge out of the crowd of joyous, laughing and happy people.

He'd known Helen less than a year before leaving for Malaya and much of that time he'd been at training camp or away from Balmain or Birchgrove. The contained Helen he'd first seen at university with the cool, confident, even appraising look that had attracted him in the first place had proved to be a woman of a great many surprises and not a few contradictions. She'd made him work for every demure kiss, and then only after she'd taken him home, seemingly to seek the approval of her parents. Like a leggy nine-year-old she'd sent him packing when he'd gone over to tell her he'd enlisted, and then minutes later had jumped from the swing, taken him by the hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom. The education of Danny Dunn had been about to begin.

They hadn't made love in the 1940s version Danny expected – he dominant and active, she supine and compliant. Instead she'd taken over, undressing him carefully, and without haste. Then, sinking to her knees, she'd begun to use her pretty mouth to excite him.

‘Do you like that?' she'd asked, after a moment or two.

He'd been unable to do much more than groan, so she went to work again, experimenting with pressure and speed, until she had brought him almost to the point of no return. Still on her knees she'd reached over and opened the drawer of her bedside cabinet and withdrawn a contraceptive. ‘That's the advantage of having a dad who owns a chemist shop,' she'd giggled, then, undoing the packet, she'd tried to slip it on.

‘Here, let me.' Danny looked at her, bemused. ‘Helen, you planned this all along, didn't you?'

‘No, I just knew that sooner or later I'd need one. I don't suppose you carry one in your wallet, do you?'

‘Not usually.'

‘I thought not. Silly thoughtless boy.' She'd proceeded to undress slowly, her eyes never leaving him, a mischievous grin on her lovely face as she watched his reaction. Then she'd moved into his arms and kissed him deeply, more so than ever before, finally extricating herself and moving to the bed, where she lay on her back.

‘You're beautiful,' Danny heard himself saying. He'd never said that before; he'd said different things, paid casual compliments to the women in the past who had been generous with their bodies, but never that plain and simple ‘You're beautiful'. Now he knew he meant it.

As he approached the bed and pressed one knee between Helen's long slender legs, she stopped him. ‘Whoa, Danny boy,' she said, grinning. ‘My turn now.'

Danny looked confused. ‘Yeah, well, that's just what I'm —'

‘No!'

‘What?' he asked, perplexed, drawing back, his leg in mid-air.

She pointed to his erection. ‘I'm sure we'll need that later. But right now I want your tongue, your whole mouth in fact.'

‘Huh? Whaffor?' Danny grunted, too surprised to stop the words. ‘You mean . . . ?' He pointed at Helen's thighs. Then, in an attempt to recover he asked, confused, ‘French? French love?'

Helen smiled. ‘Danny darling, I want you to caress me with your tongue! You may use any language you're fluent in.'

They both started to giggle. Finally Danny managed to say, ‘I'm not sure I know how. I mean, I haven't . . . ever . . .' he admitted, grinning stupidly.

Helen, attempting to contain her mirth, looked up at Danny. ‘Well, darling, are you ready for your first language lesson?'

They proceeded to experiment, with her guidance, she reaching what seemed like several orgasms until Danny was forced to come up for air. ‘Jesus, that's hard work. Did you enjoy it?' he asked, wanting some reward for his efforts.

‘Your grasp of oral French is very promising, young man. You seem to have a natural gift for speaking in tongues. One or two more lessons and you'll have the whole thing licked,' Helen said, grinning wickedly, pleased with her naughty wit. ‘Now, perhaps some swordplay?'

Helen proved as obliging as she'd previously been demanding, and for at least an hour they'd made love variously and deliciously, mostly following her suggestions.

Afterwards, lying in each other's arms, Danny started to worry. He'd obviously got it all wrong; all Helen's romantic reluctance, her ban on anything touchy-feely, her insistence on his meeting her parents, her initial cool demeanour. Now this. He imagined he'd fallen in love with a highly intelligent but thoroughly chaste girl, someone who kept her legs tightly crossed, and all the time he'd had a nympho on his hands. All the things they'd done in the last hour, none of the women he'd been with knew any of that stuff, and neither did he! With other women it was just straight up and down, ordinary sex, what you'd expect. Maybe Helen was the town bike and everyone at uni knew except him. Still, it had been pretty awesome, well, the first bit . . . and the last bit. He told himself he could do without the middle bit, but then that was the big surprise – it seemed to arouse her the most. He wondered if maybe there was something wrong with her. Was she a lesbian? Blokes didn't talk about stuff like that. He'd never heard anyone admit to doing it, whereas the converse – a blowjob – was a badge of honour the older guys boasted about in the showers after a match. He didn't talk about it, but today wasn't his first blowjob; he'd had several, even one or two in his final year at school. Her saying, what's good for him is also good for her . . . I mean, how could you argue? She'd have you trapped in a moment. But it wasn't the same thing, definitely not. No way!

Assuming what he hoped was a casual tone, Danny said, ‘Remember that time when I suggested you were a virgin and you told me I was an arrogant prick?'

‘Which you were,' Helen interrupted.

‘Well, I didn't believe you. I thought you were just putting me in my place, that you actually
were
a virgin.' Danny laughed. ‘Little did I know, eh?'

‘Oh, but I am . . . or rather,
was
, until one delicious hour or so ago,' Helen said.

‘Ah c'mon, Helen, that's bullshit! All that stuff, the things we just did! You know heaps more than me about making love.'

‘Ancient history.'

‘That's what I'm getting at.'

‘No, dope. I mean really ancient history.'

‘Huh?'

‘I learned all of it studying tomb and temple paintings, hieroglyphs, the Egyptians, then the Greeks – the cults of Dionysus and Aphrodite, the
hetaera
, the poems of Sappho, the poet of Lesbos . . . And the Romans – Ovid, Catullus, Sextus Propertius, the erotic art unearthed at Pompei, Apuleius,' Helen reeled off the names. ‘The tale of the Golden Ass, that's got just about everything in it you could imagine and then some.'

‘Fair dinkum? You mean, that was the . . . I was the . . .'

‘You were the first? Yes. I'm a very good student, and a great theoretician. Now you've helped me with my prac.' She smiled sleepily.

Danny was astonished. ‘So, they did those things way back in ancient times? Why didn't I choose classical studies?'

She laughed. ‘Danny, the missionary position was about the only thing they didn't seem to practise, though the ancient Egyptians included it among others. They don't seem to have used it a lot – it was probably too boring!'

‘Yeah? And all this stuff we did today, they did that?'

‘Of course! And a great deal more. I even thought about shaving.' She giggled.

‘Shaving? You mean, down there?' Danny said, shocked.

‘Uh-huh. The Egyptians recommended removing all body hair.' Helen couldn't resist the urge to shock him still further. ‘You're lucky you weren't met with a bald pudenda!'

‘Christ! So that's where you discovered French love?'

‘Well, they didn't call it that. The Gauls didn't exist as a tribe at that time.'

‘Galls? As in galling?'

Helen laughed. ‘No, but you might be onto something, judging by your response. You should have seen your face!'

‘Well, I mean . . .'

‘Yes, what do you mean?' Helen demanded.

‘Well, God gave men dicks, didn't he. So obviously you're not supposed to do it with your tongue. I mean, anyone could do that!'

‘You mean it doesn't require a man?'

‘Yeah.'

‘You're right there. Just ask Sappho. But what are you saying? Sex is all about the biblical injunction to go forth and multiply? Impregnate the nearest female and go thy way rejoicing in the Lord? What fun for you!'

‘Didn't you enjoy what we did?' Danny asked, adding, ‘You sure as hell seemed to.'

‘Which part?'

‘You know, me and you together . . .'

‘Yes, very much.'

‘What part was best?'

‘You mean what part of the missionary position?'

‘It wasn't
only
that. Coming inside you from the back, then you on top . . .'

‘Sweetheart, of course I enjoyed it all, your lovely, strong body, your breath, the life in you, you in me, it was wonderful, the way of a man with a maid . . . that's also biblical by the way.'

Danny seemed pleased. ‘Me too. Your body, the closeness, the smell, the movement, I thought it was wonderful. When I came inside you I wanted to . . . it . . . it was a bit like dying, but a wonderful sort of dying.'

‘That's beautiful, Danny.'

‘You didn't feel the same?'

‘When I climaxed?'

‘Yes.'