Confessions 2

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by phibeck, Sep 1, 2006.

Welcome to the Army Rumour Service, ARRSE

The UK's largest and busiest UNofficial military website.

The heart of the site is the forum area, including:

  1. Having lurked for a while, it’s about time I stood up to be accounted for! This is a first post, and may well be the last if it is not found to meet the stringent ARRSE requirements (sex, flatulence and higher-ranks making d**ks of themselves). A word before I begin: I met some cracking blokes in my time, but they son’t make funny stories like the w@nkers do!)

    The Location: Army unit, RAF camp, BAOR, 70’s

    The Cast:
    Lt.Col. Pussy-Whipped. Known as “The CO’s Husband”. This was before there were women in the army, so work it out for yourself.

    “The CO” – If you crossed a witch with a scarecrow, and gave it the personality of a Gremlin, you would approximate to this woman. Can only suppose “The CO’s Husband” married her was because she ordered him to do it.

    2Lt. Joe 90 : A long streak of p**s. Was having a NAAFI break when God handed out talent. But had finished his pork pie, and was first in line when God gave man the gift of running. And could this guy run. The CO’s Husband loved this guy so much, he would have kissed him where the sun seldom shines, if it wasn’t for the fact that the CO was already there, up to her elbow.

    Flt.Lt. Stunning Wife. A Flt.Lt. with a, well um, stunning wife.

    Miss German. Female youth worker, lived in the teachers bloke.

    Miss Chubby. Female teacher, scorable.

    JenJen. Goddess of a teacher. Tall, slim, beautiful and stupid.

    2Lt . Joe90 and JenJen were a pair believe it or not. They were together whenever they could during the daylight hours. Because you see, 2Lt. Joe90 had the day shift. Who had the night shift then? It was Flt.Lt. Stunning Wife. Please do not ask how he swung it, but he did. The arrangement seemed to suit all parties, especially onlookers.

    Well if 2Lt.Joe 90 was at least sniffing around someones honeypot, why shouldn’t 2Lt. yours truly? But who to target? No FFO’s at that time (Forward Female Observers). The choice fell on Miss German : I had helped her at the youth club a few times, and had a foot in the door – I was anyway in her room quite regularly. One the decision was made, H-hour sat and the start line crossed, it was all over bar the banging – or so I thought. Well into a kiss and cuddle session I tried to land base 2. “oh no, sorry I can’t – I’m in a relationship”. Great, just what I wanted to hear. “OK, says I, who is it?” Good reader you have already guess that it was Flt.Lt. Stunning Wife. I wish I could say that this part of the story ends with me in a compromising positions with Mrs. Flt.Lt. Stunning Wife, but it doesn’t. This part of the story ends with grope with Miss German before making an embarrassed exit to lick my wounds. Alright, have a pint and forget about the whole thing.

    Next weekend, pretty p***ed off at not having any real action of the other sex variety, took a trip into nearest town. At some stage of the evening contact was made with a teutonic strand of the species. Not particularly attractive (but on the other hand she was talking to me), not particularly slim (but on the other hand she was smiling to me), not particularly good English (but there again she was drinking, and so was I) – so we end up back at hers. Details are not necessary to the story. I wake up in the early hours to point Percy at the porcelain, and before getting back to bed look at what has ended up in my net. Oops! Gets kit back on and scarpers back to camp.

    Back in the comfort of my own room, begin to feel pleased with myself. Perhaps the losing streak is over? Begin to feel a little bit randy again, as well as pleased. Award myself a hand-shandy for a good evenings effort. Having just finished, and dried up etc. there is a careful knock on my door. Oh my God – who can that be? Didn’t I cover my trail ?

    A little voice through the keyhole says she is upset and wants to come in. Open door, and there stands miss Chubby. She comes in, explains that she has been out all evening (???? Its now about 04:00!) with someone she didn’t really like, and would like some “comfort”. Oh my God. Scored once, w@nked once, and now a bint who wants a seeing to. I was seriously doubtful of my prowess, and details are unnecessary other than the deed was done.

    Next evening I’m lying in bed, thinking about the evening before and chuckling. Loser streak over and out. Begin to get a bit randy again thinking about the evening before. Decide that if I ever deserved to play solo on the trouser snake it was now. Had JUST finished when there came a careful knocking at the door – Miss Chubby wants some more comfort.

    What do I do? I now don’t want to, but the lass has taken a shine. What did I do? I did what any gentleman would have down – I told her to feck off and wasn’t bothered again.


    Miss Chubby married a Captain. I just love it when girls I have seen to marry someone I know.

    The CO’s husband didn’t get a mention, why not? He is the star of another story, coming to your forum soon.
  2. Ord_Sgt

    Ord_Sgt RIP

    Nice one, keep them coming. :D

    You sure? :wink:
  3. Miss German. Female youth worker, lived in the teachers bloke.

    Sorry to disappoint, she lived in the Teachers Block !
  4. That's a pretty impressive start, Phil. Carry on with the good work. :D :D :D

  5. Yeah and then you woke up :twisted: :roll:
  6. Sounds like this could get interesting
  7. :? If I had been dreaming it would have been JenJen or Mrs. Flt.Lt. Stunning Wife who needed pit service, and it would have been at a point of time where I was brimming over with excess juice. (Anyway, who the hell would brag about having a w@nk ????) As this was real life, it was Miss Chubby, and I promise you, that was nothing to brag about. I have a picture of her (on the knee of the Captain in question!)

    If you need witness's, my next story can be collabrated by an entire Regiment - it will be about how I broke the Army record for extra orderly officer in the course of 6 months.
  8. I am intensely proud every time I masturbate myself into a froth. In fact I may well boast about it when I finally get off the phone and off to the pub...on second thoughts I'll settle for here.

    As for the likelihood of Phil's story being kosher, I can offer my own testimony that it is either no nookie or beating them off with a stick. My secretary used to control my sex life with a spead sheet at one time!!
  9. Chill Phibeck, this is the NAAFI Bar and it was only a joke!
  10. Can anybody beat being orderly officer every other day (night) for 6 months?

    Cast and Location as per Confessions 1.

    As a YO I was a mess, my head was full of other things I wanted to do (which I later did, and make better stories, but this is ARRSE right? All stories have to be green right?). My real downfall was wine, women and not so much song. I have never drunk so much as I did then. Nowadays I don’t drink so much – I mostly spill it.

    Heres some of the things which lead up to it:

    Mess night. A lot of singly subbies. Getting bored. Drinking too much. The CO’s husband really getting stuck up 2.Lt. Joe 90’s @rse, and as such wasn’t going home anytime soon. "Now tell me again Joe, just how do you place one foot in front of the other?" -- "Very quickly sir " -- "Good lad". This could be a long night. As young gentlemen, we pursued gentlemanly pursuits like croquet before lunch at the weekends – suitably primed with Pimms first. So we decide to play croquet to pass the time, it’s dark so we play indoors. 2Lt. Yours Truly is well ahead, and goes all out for the finish. Demolishing the 2 metre high vases that adorned the south side of the bar. Oh dear. Had to leave the mess. Carried on the movement with the rest of the subbies in someones room. Can’t remember much, but I have pictures of us all giving a mop a shafting. 9 ‘o’ clock on the Monday and I’m standing in front of the CO’s husbands desk with my beret on. Extra orderly officers for a month, and my pay docked for the rest of my life, my childrens lives, and their childrens lives.

    Open day: This rather narrows things down, but after 30 years it can hardly matter if the location is “compromised”. The station was to have an open day, the boys in blue were to show their hardware. Part of the display was to be an airborne assault (helicopters) on a “fort” to befrie a princess. It was great fun, I was OC “shock force” and the brief was to make as much noise, bangs, wallops, shooting as we could. It went like a dream, we fly onto the airfield, pile out of the choppers, thunderflashes, blanks and flares in all directions. A Walt wet dream come true. “Princess” whisked into waiting group of LR’s, and a lap of honour round the airfield to joyous adulation from crowd. Great was therefore surprise when invited to do the duck-@rsed shuffle into the CO’s Husbands’s office on the Monday. “Now then 2Lt. Yours Truly, I understand that you created a great deal of chaff on the airfield on Saturday” “Yes Sir” I said proudly “Followed the brief to the letter, felt it went rather well”. “Hrrm, well as you know chaff can be dangerous for aircraft so you can have 1 months extra orderly officer”. WTF ?????

    Heres the score eventually:

    OK, so I’m orderly officer every other day. No problem, every morning I get up, and remember if I’m orderly officer or not (Z-cars type radio helps). The problem is in the evening when I spend all night either wandering about, in the guard room or in the mess. And when I’m in the mess I have a few lemonades – and by the end of the evening I’m drunk and have no idea who I am, or if the person who is indeed me is on orderly officer or not. Well, a couple of times I guessed wrong, and went to bed in my own bed, and what-ho, “no-one” can find me, because no-one answers the phone by the side of the orderly officers bed. (The radio was switched on though, could have tried that?). Awarded 1 months extra orderly officer, for forgetting I was orderly officer every time I forgot. Cheers and congratulations all round next time the orders goes up, and the whole Troop, Squadron, Regiment and camp have read them. Anyone would think I had done something heroic, everyone bought me drinks, which only made things worse.

    OK, change of tactics, instead of trying to guess whether I was orderly officer or not (cannot read when drunk) decide on a pucker scheme. I will go to bed in the orderly officers room every night. Well it worked 50% of the time. Though I’m not sure all of my fellow officers liked me dropping into bed with them so much. I had no problems with being asked to leave – but I had to drop the solution as one time I was asked to stay. (No names, no pack drill).

    OK, new idea. Round the other side of the corridor was a WAAF girl. Not any old WAAF girl, but OC WAAF. And she had A PHONE outside her room, so that all the little WAAFs could ring her at any time if there was something which made them cry. (Now you all want to know why I was more interested in her phone than her don’t you? Well the truth is, she reminded me of Matron at school (and that’s another story) – and as such didn’t really do it for me). But I digress. Here’s the plan, read carefully I shall write this only once. We had telephones in the troop stores, we had wiring in the troop stores, we had tools in the troop stores. Now, if I could rig up an extension to my room, I wouldn’t have to remember if I was orderly officer any more, because the guard room could ring direct to my room. Foolproof-ish. I had to make sure that I took the phone first before OC-WAAF, and the guardroom needed to be made aware of the “new” number to the orderly officer. Phone is now in place, I’ve informed the guardroom, and so off to the mess for some light refreshment. Get woken up in the wee hours of the morning by (at least) two people walking up and down the corridor, banging on ALL the doors EXCEPT mine. Thank God for that, if it was me they were after I would have been in trouble. Poke my nose out of the door to see if I can be of any assistance (and also see if I can stand up) to find the CO’s husband and Sunray Minor patrolling the corridor, banging as they went. Oo-er, it was me they wanted. 2 months extra orderly officers, jubilation galore. 2Lt. Yours Truly all time hero amongst everyone except adjutant upwards.
  11. Looking forward to next installment, Phibeck

    With a few more details and less Rupert code.
  12. This is getting interestiger and interestiger, phibeck (sorry about my bone spelling of your name in "Confessions 1").

    More of the same, if you please. :D :D :D

  13. Great stories :D

    Why not amalgamate both threads so that anyone who wants to hear about your exploits (I hope there'll be more?) can just go to one place, a la the Stumpy tales and Pardon My Erection? Just a thought.
  14. What a guy - more please !!
  15. ”There can be no deed more glorious, no deed more honourable than to lighten up an Arrser ‘s day”

    Well, the feedback was positive so I’ll bang on. I’ll keep on banging them out as long as the feedback is civil. Good suggestion GM-1000 to put the “confessions” in one thread. So they will all be here from as now. Apart from the first two.

    “Confession 1” is here:
    “Confession 2” is here:

    I have derived a lot of enjoyment from many of the threads on the site, and whilst not pretending that I can write like some of the comic geniuses here, this is my effort to contribute.

    They are meant to be amusing, so most of them put me, and those around me, in a not particularly good light! The reason for this is that nobody likes a smart arrse, not least someone who writes endless anecdotes about his wonderful deeds. I offer my pride at the alter of Arrse.

    So much to choose from – where to start?

    Summer camp in Scarborough (just to get away from BAOR for just a bit!). Decided to drive up (and claim mileage), and took 3 others from the Troop. Trying to be a good “host” I ensured that the stereo was well-fed with a non-stop selection of the heaviest stuff available then. (Allright, we’re only talking Purple, Sabbath and Heep that sort of thing). Having given it all I could, and all that the 8” speakers could push out, we finally arrived in Scarborough after 10 hours driving. Well that went OK says Mr. Phibeck, “Yes sir, but we don’t think much of your taste in music ”. Oh, not off to a good start then. Well the trip was only 10 hours.

    Most of the other squadron officers were on this 2 week “camp”, but I have no recollection of seeing them at any time, apart from Capt. Suave (2IC), once (more later). Capt. Suave and I were to share a house. A married quarter. A bl**dy big house with bedrooms and kitchen. The sort of thing that normal people live in. The sort of thing you might invite ladies back to. Hmmm. However, I would like to make one thing clear from the start – I did not in fact share the house with Capt. Suave – I shared the house with Capt. Suaves clothes. At no time did I see him in the house, apart to unpack. “Carry on Phibeck” he said shortly after unpacking and changing – and leaving the house.

    The first evening was drawing near – and Sgt. Scottie kept muttering “About time you took your turn in the barrel Sir!” Sgt. Airborn kept coming over to me and saying “You will remember that you’re invited to the Sgt.s mess this evening won’t you sir?” Now Mr. Phibeck was about half the age of everyone in the Sgt.s mess, in fact I felt about half the age of the children of everyone in the Sgt.s mess. So this “invitation” and the barrel were in some way connected I felt sure. I was equally sure that it wouldn’t end well for Mr. Phibeck.

    I was certain that it was better to live to fart another day, than to indulge in any of the “bonding “ that the Sgt.s might have planned for me. So I steered well clear of the Sgt.s mess (yeah, I know, the story would have been better if I had gone right? Wrong, read further dear fellow). Well, I went to bed when all young ruperts should, and focused my thoughts on my tasks in the weeks ahead. I hadn’t locked the door (you never know, Capt. Suave might have come back), and the Sgt.s hadn’t forgotten our appointment.

    I was awakened by a large object falling on the end of the bed. “’Kin ‘ell!” It was dark so I had no idea if I should kill it or at least hit it. Oo-er, maybe Capt. Suave had taken a left in the corridor instead of a right. Better not do anything then, so turned on the light. I don’t know how old she was, but I think she was even older than the Sgt.s. She was short, round, had horn-rimmed spectacles, and sat with her hand-bag on her knee, looking at me with that expectant look, only old, fat, ugly bints can give you.

    The tittering and whispering from the corridor rather revealed where the hell, if not hell, she had come from. “We’ve promised her you’ll give her a seeing to sir, so we’ll stand here until you’re finished” came through the keyhole. ‘Kin ‘ell. ‘Kin ‘ell again. Time for negotiations. And dear reader, a deal was reached. I could retain whatever cherries I had left, and Ugly Bint would be removed provided that I presented myself in the Sgt.s mess pronto. Message received.

    OK, quick change and I’m over there, feeling much better once a can of Scotlands finest is placed in my hands. Look around, and discover that there are now 2 bints, and the Sgt.s are so preoccupied with them that they seem to have forgotten the barrel game. (So this story’s not THAT good!). Ugly Bints girlfriend actually looks as though she might have been born at ground level. Indeed, SSgt. Barman I think has actually fallen in love. I definitely saw him buying her drinks, and putting his arm around her shoulder instead of up her skirt.

    But now it was show-time – and the act was as polished as only an act which has been performed many times can be. And just about everyone knew what was coming. (How many times had the Squadron been to Scarborough ???!). Ugly Bint wobbles up to a table. At least 5 Sgt.s are required to get her up on the table. Then, by some strange contradiction of the laws of gravity shes upside down. And then shes’s standing on her head, with her feet straight up in the air, and her skirt around her t*ts. She was rock solid. No swaying or anything, completely still. And then she starts doing “scissors” with her legs. Slowly and gracefully, forwards, backwards and to the sides, lower and lower. She is obviously not happy about the lack of freedom of movement because she reaches (up) and starts fiddling with some poppers in the crotch of whatever she was wearing. That too falls down and round her t*ts. The show starts again, with more revealing spreading now that the freedom of movement is increased. But, no. She is still discontented with her performance so reaches (up), and still on her head, removes her kacks. Oh no, I’d hoped to go through life without ever having to see anything like this. Her legs are now down at the 180 “splits” angle, backwards and forwards, round and round. When she eventually finishes, she is placed on the lap of three Sgt.s who seem delighted at the prospect.

    This is something that I either have to stop, or not know anything about. So, once again I fail to take a stand, and putting down lots of smoke, withdraw out of the mess, back to the house, and lock the door.

    The next day the Sgt.s mess looks like Baghdad on a bad hair day. Somehow 2 lav’s are completely destroyed, all the tables are in one pile, and the chairs are all out on the grass. There is beer and urine everywhere.

    Capt. Suave pops up from nowhere and has a little chat with the Sgt.s about ensuring that “The tone of the mess isn’t lowered”. What tone? Well, everything’s relative. He then exited right, and I didn’t see him again for the duration of the camp.

    I was going to put in another story here, but it will be too long so it will have to wait until next time.