LIEUTENANT MEADE AT PEKING, episode 1 by Heihachiro

It was difficult for me to think back upon how I ended up half way 'round the world, about to die. My mind flitted back, dancing over the rolling wake of our steamer as it arrived for coaling in Singapore, bounded back to the sights and smells of Delhi. I am in Peking, I thought. I'm bloody well going to die in Peking. It's odd that all these thoughts and self-analysis can occur all in the split second before your demise. It is as if time does not exist, and all the thoughts and emotions happen concurrently.

The imminent threat to my life was presently posed by a zealous young Ten-Nai of the Peking Boxers. The painted face on his round shield mocked my impotence with its seemingly opium-induced grin. The Ten-Nai had taken an officer's revolver from the body of a dead man, and the hammer was cocked back with an anticipatory "click" as he began to pull the trigger. Life and all existence flowed as if trapped underwater, slowly, slowly... then the searing pain.

I awoke in an improvised field hospital, where a German surgeon dealt with the wounded from the last attack. My sleeve had been torn off, and the wound in my shoulder field-dressed. The German had returned to me in order to finish his job at dressing the hole in my shoulder.

"Oh, lieutenant," he formed the words deliberately, in order to overcome his race's inability to speak English without sounding angry, "I zee you are avake. Please eef you vill remove your tunic, I can bandage you more securely, yes?"

I recoiled from him; not wanting him to know what secrets dwelt beneath my tunic. "I shall receive bandaging from gentlemen of my own regiment, sir," I tried to sound authoritative, "You have many more critical cases with which to deal, I am certain!"

"Very vell." he replied, and turned towards where a Japanese trooper of the fifth Regiment was resting stoically whilst a nurse probed for a bullet in his leg, "Please be certain to keep it clean."

Perhaps I should relate some of my story, now that thoughts of meeting Saint Peter at the muzzle of my own husband's revolver are not foremost in my mind. Yes, that is correct; he was my husband. Being a colonel stationed to the Legation here in Peking, he wanted to take his favorite toy with him, and dressed me up as a lieutenant aide-de-camp. The first his troops saw me I was stepping up the gangplank onto the warship _Bellerophon_ in my husband's tow, wearing the distinguished aide's lanyard. I didn't particularly like him. My husband, that is. He was much older than I, we married out of convenience just before he was stationed in India. Whilst in India I must admit to playing at poodlefaking, and chasing the young lads about the sanatoriums. It is easy, in India, for a fair maid such as myself to feign wilting neath the hot Hyderabad sun; from there I would be sent to a sanatorium in the hills for the good of my constitution. Neve mind that all the young, brave officers who were there healing as well! Craving constant attention to my most private anatomy, I found it difficult remaining with a man who could do but little service. For a soldier, he didn't make a good job at "standing-to." His younger bretheren did so most admirably.

The station here had been uneventful until the rebellion. A group of religious fanatics called the "Boxers" had risen in the city, and were besieging the legation quarter. Banded together with the Russians, Japanese, Italians, Americans, Germans, French and Austrians, we have been making a stand for about two days now. Hundreds, even thousands of Chinese christians, who were also targets of Boxer hatred, had taken refuge with us in the legation, most making their base of operations at Su-Wang-Fu, to the east of the British Legation and across the Imperial Canal. Damn the Ching Dynasty, and damn the Empress Dowager. It was her guns on the walls of the Forbidden City that had been turned on us. Reeks of Imperial complicity with the Boxers. My arm hurt. I recall now that I was en route for bandages.

As I made my way back to the British legation to report the death of the Colonel (perhaps the second most important part of my disguise) to the men, I caught a glimpse of this young Chinese girl. I had seen her before, lurking about the British legation. She was a cute, ruddy-faced little one. About five foot tall, the typical long, charcoal hair and deep brown eyes. She wore a dusty blue jacket and greyish pants, with black fabric shoes. She must have been from a poor farmer family, as her feet weren't bound. As I approached the legation, she cast her eyes downward, and pretended to go about whatever business the Chinese went about around the British legation. She was probably looking at all the sweaty men, young and fit, warlike and rugged... I snatched myself from my reverie and noticed a familiar warmth between my legs. 'Not now!' I told myself... 'By god, you're one of the few remaining officers of this unit now!'

I entered the legation, and was greeted by the uninjured troops standing to attention. I removed my helmet and muttered "As you were" as manly as I could. The benefit of having an accessory to a costume such as one's elderly husband was that he could do all the talking. Unfortunately, I had to cultivate my more manly qualities now in order that my disguise not be undone. "Your arm feelin' betta sah?" quipped Jones, a Welshman from Llanelli. Welshmen talk incredibly fast. "Indeed, Jones. I was just about to bandage it upstairs." Before he could reply, I jaunted up the steps to the officer's quarters, a stateroom overlooking the Su-Wang-Fu. Nobody was there. Checking for any hidden interlopers, I quickly undid the buckle of my holster belt, removed my bloody tunic and blouse - err uniform shirt, and fetched some bandages from the medical supply in the corner of the room. My breasts hung out of their prison, and I could feel the warm sweat evaporating from them in invisible wisps of moisture. I stood across from a full-length dresser mirror, and examined my body. It had been a long time since I actually *felt* like a woman, and this manliness was starting to grow on me. Too much, in fact. I gazed at my figure if only to remind myself of from whence I came.

I had reached over to put the bandages on, but I stopped in mid reach, fascinated by the fact that I was in an utterly absurd situation. A *female* officer, playing soldier, dressing a wound somewhere in the bloody middle of Peking. I giggled to myself. The trousers had to go. After thinking about where I was from the perspective of *who* I *really* was had set my blood afire! I was surrounded by a platoon of young, virile soldiers... and me, a young and available woman! The familiar warmth I had felt between my legs earlier returned... but with it came a most irreligious wetness. Blushing to myself, I decided to explore the matter with my fingers, sliding off my uniform trousers and brushing against the quivering soft flesh of my own womanhood. My hand shook noticeably, part from the worry of being found out, part for the anticipation. I gently touched the wetness between my labia and swiftly withdrew, glancing cautiously about as though I were a prison escapee, caught in the light of a policeman's lamp. I was obsessed with the possible arrival of one of my "brother" officers, and yet thrived upon the fear. My hand just as quickly returned to its post, and I moistened my finger with my own juices and began to press deeper, flashes of heat and energy rushed through my muscles, seared through my bones. I hadn't been touched passionately since India...

Clomping footsteps on the stairs made me rush to throw on my trousers. I realized that I had to bandage my wound now, or whomever it was coming up the stairs would want to help! Simply not a good idea for a fellow officer to find out his junior has breasts. I hurriedly wrapped up my chest tightly in the bandages, just in time to acknowledge the presence of the new commander in chief of the defence, Sir Claude MacDonald of the British Legation.

......................................

Having narrowly escaped the discovery of my ruse, I decided to take my uniform to the Su-Wang-Fu to be laundered and mended by the workers there. The Chinese worked for food or money, as they were not granted a ration from the legation quarter defenders, so I took some of my meager ration as well as a pocket of Taels to see me through the transaction. It was in the first cluster of washers that I saw the little girl from in front of the legation, rubbing dirty laundry out on a washing board. I indicated to her that I required my tunic cleaned and mended. Looking up from her work, she first seemed startled, then afraid, then embarrassed, as she realized I was not there to scold her for looking at the men so intently. She took me inside the partitioned sections of the Su-Wang-Fu, little lantern lit areas, rubble here and there, parts blocked off by sheets. We reached her little sheeted-off area, and stepped inside to where she kept a set of some threads and a pincushion. Lighting a lantern, she turned to me, her face bathed in a dim red light. With a smile she spoke, "I can sew your tunic before I wash it."

She spoke English, perfect but for a slight American and Chinese accent. She blushed, and averted her eyes before returning them to mine. I nodded assent, and removed my tunic.

She took the fabric I had brought from the legation and began to fashion a sleeve using some quaint Chinese scissors and my extra buttons. As she did so, she said "You can remove your shirt as well, the blood will be difficult to get out if we don't soak it."

Not knowing how exactly to respond, I decided to agree. Bandages covered that which I didn't want to show, and to disagree would perhaps be suspicious. I unbuttoned the shirt clumsily (it was, after all, buttoned on the wrong side) and the young girl silently giggled to herself at my lack of dexterity. "Tell me," I said, "where did you learn your English? Obviously from an American, but where?" She replied, "At the missionary school near here. My parents were converted christians, which is why they were killed when the fighting started." Without thinking, I placed my hand on her knee to console her, "I'm terribly sorry."

"Thank you for your concern," she cast her eyes down to my hand, "I am glad there is a kind foreigner such as you here who feels so. Most are... oblivious." My hand didn't move. Something had come over me, and I wasn't sure what. I wanted to hold her to make her feel better. I chased the thoughts from my mind and forcibly removed my hand from her knee. "I see." I said. She smiled, and cocked her head to one side before she went back to sewing. Her long hair flipped over her left shoulder with the motion of her head. After a tense pause, she continued, "I know that you found me near the British Legation today." I looked once more into her dark eyes and listened quite intently. "You have maybe seen me there even before that?"

I recalled as though in a dream the brief glimpses I had of her face, always around when I returned to the Legation with my husband. The coincidences... it seemed quite strange that I should not have remembered her until I received her assistance. "I hope you do not think me strange," she said, "but I was waiting there to see you return."

I was both flattered and embarrassed. I smiled, and thought to myself that I must not have made such a bad looking man after all!

"With your husband."

From smile my face went to an expression of stark disbelief. "I know the foreigners think we Chinese are unintelligent. Perhaps it is true, but I think we are wise beyond your current expectations." She smiled at me and in her bashful oriental manner, looked back down to her work. My mind, meanwhile, was filled with total confusion. I hadn't known that my earlier warmth had come not from thinking of the young soldiers, but of thinking of this young girl... I was fascinated with how she might think of ME as a soldier, that she might be attracted to my figure. Perhaps this manliness I had somehow inhereited through the donning of a uniform of Her Majesty's Army had affected me too deeply. No, that couldn't be possible, I've had my share of men to prove that I was a perfectly ordinary girl, but... they, so few of them had truly pleasured me, so few had actually made me feel satiated! She looked up at me, invitingly, longingly... I could no longer bear the confusion. I decided to throw the dice rather than not act. I grasped her tightly and kissed her.

Gasping, she dropped the sewing and grasped my face, passionately kissing me back. She breathed deeply, sensuously sucking upon my lower lip and dragging me on top of her, falling backwards. My body had taken control of the situation; every moral objection my mind could create was snuffed at its inception. I was now a spectator to something I felt I had longed to see all my life.

Whilst I was shaking with inexperience and lust and fear and passion, my young Chinese lass undid her knot-buttons on the front of her jacket and momentarily broke our embrace to remove her white shirt. For just a moment, she sat upright, her pert little breasts sitting longingly on a smooth, slender frame. Her tan flesh was so pure and inviting, her brown nipples stood erect, as my husband's own equipment could not. She kissed me tenderly, and began to unwrap my bandage. The blood had begun to clot some, so the last turn she pulled off must have hurt me, but my attention was too focused to notice. My breasts hung there, as they had when I gloried in my womanhood but briefly at the legation. My lover, her mouth bowed into a miniscule pout of longing, leaned into my white breasts and began to suckle at my right nipple. A shock of pleasure wracked my body with the first touch... she sucked my already erect nipples, bit at them, and massaged my breasts with such energy and yet such tenderness. I began to melt, and the warmth between my legs was accompanied by more wetness than became a girl of good christian upbringing.

After a sensuous period of massage at my breasts, my lover stood up slowly. She untied her trousers, kicked off her shoes, and removed all from her waist down. I gazed at the purity of her flesh, the beauty of her womanhood. Her labia were parted and swollen... inviting me, beckoning me with their wet musk from beneath a short forest of black hair. I found myself unable to move as she knelt down and undid my own boots and trousers. Before long, she had silently clad me in the clothes of Eve, and parted my legs to partake of my forbidden fruit.

Her head moved between my legs slowly, lovingly. The first sensation was of her soft yet fiery breath upon the expectant mound in which I so longed for her to indulge. After the breath, the tip of her tiny tongue found the pool of my juices, and began to lap at them with both grace and passion. She sucked upon my labia, causing me to shudder with delight and, unthinking, squeeze my ripe breasts together as I tugged at my own nipples. I could feel the coming of a small orgasm, and one mild contraction in the depths of my body poured a flood of furious passion into my soul. My juices flowed even more now, as the beautiful tailoress pulled back on the hood of my clitoris and pressed her greedy lips around it, both sucking and playing at it with her tongue. I could no longer bear the flood of stimulation into my body. My back arched violently, my entire frame shuddered with more pleasure than I had ever experienced in my life. My orgasm was complete; it took what seemed like days and weeks to stop convulsing with its aftereffects. As I lay there, glowing, unable to move, my lover kissed her way from bellybutton to my lips, and put her arms around my neck.

"Your name," I finally uttered, "I don't know your name, little one."

"It is Xiaomei... Su Xiaomei" She said, her little voice almost a whisper.

"Xiaomei," I reiterated, "Xiaomei. It seems as though I have heard that name before, and yet I have no memory of from where or when I may have heard it..."

"You don't have recollection of my name, I think," Xiaomei smiled to herself, "but you do know me from many lives we have had in the past."

I was agog. "I thought you were christian!" said I in a forced whisper.

"It is possible," said Xiaomei, "that I can be christian born, and yet still be Chinese, my love." I lay back, and thought of the words she had uttered... 'my love.' My mind knew they were wrong, immoral. My heart knew they were undeniably right. "How do you know of these lives, Xiaomei?" I asked.

"I shall tell you the stories I was told by the fortune teller of our village," she continued, slowly, "but later. Now, I wish to bathe in the glory of your beauty, and in the greatness of our destiny." I sighed a slow sigh, my heart had won. "Very well, my love Xiaomei."

TO BE CONTINUED