The NAZI General’s Coat

From Burning Questions: The NAZI General's Coat

The cottage was chilled and dank from lack of recent occupancy. Walter had been somewhere down south for quite a while, and we’d not made enough appearances during our few prior weekends together to take the edge off the damp- ness. Abigail took off her coat, shivered dramatically and asked me to make a fire. She excused herself and went off into the workshop, leaving me to scrounge about for kindling and old newspaper. I’d just put a match to the paper when an enormous fur-trimmed coat, headless, without hands protruding from its sleeves, waddled up behind me and said; “Boo!” Peeking out from a gap beneath a buttonhole was Abigail, grinning.

“What the hell is that?” I chuckled, rising from the hearth where my fire was just beginning to take off.

“It’s a German general’s greatcoat. My daddy got it in the War. The officer who owned it didn’t need a coat anymore.”

“Must have been one hell of an officer,” I said. The great- coat looked like it was built for someone around six-six and more than three hundred pounds. The shoulders could have accommodated a fully padded NFL lineman. About twenty- five clowns could have popped out of it. But it was a NAZI coat and that made me uncomfortable. How the hell did Walt Forbes get his hands on a NAZI general’s coat?


“C’mon in,” she said, poking a hand out. She began unfastening a couple of the buttons. “Yeah, what for?”

“Dessert.”
“I didn’t see that on the menu,” I bantered.

 “Rockport’s a dry town,” she replied. “It won’t be dry in here!”

Now maybe the Pope could resist a come-on like that, but I wasn’t him. I stepped into the NAZI general’s coat to happily discover that it was all Abigail was wearing. The interior was more of the same fur, thick and clingingly warm. I felt like I was in a Third Reich womb.

“Take off your clothes,” she whispered, closing the coat around us so that it became pitch black, except for a spot of light where an Aryan head once had perched. I hoped he’d lost it the hard way.

“Doesn’t the fur feel fabulous on your bare skin?” she said.

“ You’ll feel more fabulous on my bare skin. ”

We danced around in the dark, bumping into things we couldn’t identify. She unfastened my belt and helped me off with my shirt. I worried we might fall into the fire but luckily we toppled onto the couch. Her nipples were erect, reaching out to me, begging to be kissed. I was as hard as I’d ever been. I wanted to enter her then, but she resisted. She made us stand up, then slowly slid her face down the front of me, exhaling hot breath along the way until she found what we both wanted her to find.

I asked her to lie down, so we could make proper love. She told me “no;” that this was “more delicious.” She said that it was better to take things slowly, to tease, to tantalize. She told me to trust her on that. Sensing my frustration, she told me, “Don’t worry, Nate,” in a hushed whisper. “We’ll get there, but this way will be better.” And though it wasn’t what I had in mind, and we were in a place where, when my mind turned to where I was, gave me the creeps, it was a lot better than nothing.