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Dont be a puff, get a dose

#1
I just amused myself for the last fifteen minutes, by horrifying my work colleagues with embellished tales of forces related c-ock rot. Nothing is guaranteed to stagger a civvy office bloke more than a casually told anecdote about some of the lurg acquirable whilst on foreign tours.

I work with guys, who, to a man have never even been into a knocking shop, let alone went bareback or stirred another mans porridge. One of them has admitted that he’s married to the first lady who let him shag her. Can you imagine anything as terrible? He’s shagged one bird and he’s forty two. Of course, he’s the most avid listener whenever theres a forces related item on the news and someone says,

“Hey, Convoy, did you used to get up to that sort of stuff when you were in?”

His eyes were on stalks this morning when I was telling him about the first prozzie I shagged in Belize. When I pulled my knob out at the end of the marathon 38 second humping I gave her, there was no johnny on there. As I watched open mouthed, she retrieved it in a style reminiscent of a zookeeper grabbing a fish from the back of a pelican’s throat, and lobbed it over her shoulder. It landed on her bedside lamp, and after a few seconds, a faint wisp of spermy steam started to drift up off it.

Terry, the one woman man, said, “Fcuking hell, did you catch anything.”

“Yeah, just a little bit of the spunk on my eyebrow”

It’s great sport terrifying them with some of the doses that can be caught. I was telling them about a lad called Fletch at Holdfast. The true story was that he got NSU and got filled in when someone caught him dose-skiffing the top of a beer bottle. When I’d applied the civvie conversion, I had them believing that he went to the medics because his old man had swollen so badly overnight that it looked like a Pringles tin with a sheep’s heart on top.

“What did he have, what did he have?” implored Terry.

In mock serious tones, I said,

“The medic told him that he’d just looked it up in the book and that his dose was so bad, leprosy was one of the early symptoms.”

I suppose it’s a skewed sort of waltish behaviour, big timing about spurious medical complaints, but it helps to reinforce the commonly held belief that all male squaddies are complete hetero tigers, with a casual disregard towards personal health issues.

I would be interested to hear any other dose related anecdotes, so that I might employ them for my own use, thus ensuring that one-woman-Terry never strays far from the one fanny he knows well.
 
#2
There was a lad in Nicosia who on his daily visit to Miami’s would pay extra to go down on one of the mingers that could be found in there. As a result he ended up sporting a set of facial wart which ensured no fu.cker would go nearer him unless he was wearing a respirator. 3 years late he was still getting fresh outbreaks.
 
#3
Convoy, you are performing a valuable public health role by keeping your terrified colleagues away from places where they might catch the lurg, thus making your own special contribution to the sexual health of "UK PLC." I think you should send the Dept. of Health a home-made video of you talking about your exploits. This should be sent to education facilities. Instead of Mr. Miggins the biology teacher talking about "human reproduction" you could have scary ex-squaddies telling them about the "facts of life" instead. A gleaming idea.

I think you deserve a medal. And some antibiotics.

V!
 
#4
Every now and again, a post comes along on this site that reminds me why i keep wading through the f ucking knitting circle dross thats been posted on here of late by people with "spurious" connections to the forces to say the least .. (is being a f ucking groupie cruising for squaddie c0ck a connection?)

I am as we speak marking time and saluting my reflection with tears of laughter streaming down my face .... thanks convoy. :D

we had a lad at nienburg affectinately known as "full house" as he had contracted every (non fatal) dose known to man woman or indeed beast.

his old boy looked like it had been caught in a crossfire between "the hillys and the billys" because it had had so many warts burnt off it, and he needed a tirfor jack to pull his sodden pants off his constantly weeping nsu ridden japs eye... he was an unpopular man come the day of sheet exchange and the room sprog would ensure his crust ridden sheets were fully bagged before he'd venture near them.

i myself indeed as a younger and less wise man caught a dose of c0ck rot, and will never forget the delicate way the full screw medic at BMH Rinteln delicately squeezed my bell end in a vulcan death grip and tried to scrape my spine by forcing some glass thing up my japper so far i stood on tip toes for a week just thinking about it ...

aaah ....... happy days. :D
 
#5
Maybe slightly off topic but I feel worhty of a mention whilst ladies of the night are being mentioned.

Ten Mark alley was the haunt of a 664 chap who for the sake of this story can be called Roger, as his real name, Vince is a bit puffy :D

Roger had a mild addiction problem and would blow his wages down the alley over a three or four day period at the beginning of every month. There was one in particular that he used to go for, an old woman, about 40, blonde hair, saggy tits and a beaver like a sawn off welly.

She had a small dog, which was the subject of much verbal abuse over the years, but never the less the loyal picanese wretch would sit at the tarts feet while she sold her hoop to Brit soldiers and spectacled germans in janitors jackets.

One evening, a group of us had gathered in the alleyway to survey the kingdom and mock the trollops before trashing thier cars in fits of jealousy.

Roger obviously heard us and appeared at the window with a massive drunken grin on his face, a full blown woody and a dog held up by the scruff of its neck for our entertainment.

With little encouragement, and with a severe beating from a semi naked trout he lifted its tail and licked its back box, as he tried to apply a finger, it leapt to the floor and fcuked off quicker than greased weasel sh1t.

Of course the bruisers appeared and requested he leave in the state he was. He stood there still smirking licking the finger that he'd just been caressing the dogs date with.

Roger had ulcers for a week...... but still holds a special place in my memories to this day.
 
#6
I once grew a penile wart that looked like a small brussel sprout on the tender part of my kn0b, round the back of the bellend. I went to the pox clinic in Munster and the crap they gave me was rubbish. So grabbing the bull by the horns so to speak, I borrowed one of the lads Varooka juice. Biting heartily on a stick I applied it. It is the most strange feeling to see smoke coming off your old chap! I went down to JHQ for the weekend to see the future (No1) Mrs Guru. "we can't get up to anything this weekend dear" I said as the offending piece was hanging on by the merest of pieces of skin,but I just couldn't tear it off. Anyway we went to the Marly and got shiters. Got back to her room ad got a bit funky. Afterwards I pulled the old chp out and, yes, you've guessed it, it had gone ! She was crazy insane! I later found out that penile warts are one of the major causes of cervical cancer. After we split up about 6 years later, I found out that she was ill. I kept the joint life insurance policy going for 2 whole years after we got divorced at 50 quid a month, but unfortunately she pulled through.
 
#7
Terry –mono-minge was at it again this morning. He had the audacity to suggest that some of my tales had been sprinkled with exaggeration dust. The cheeky c-unt. He’s lapped one box since he was 17 and dares to presume that the rest of the world has followed a similar chaste path.

To illustrate his folly, I told him about a mate of mine at 216 who suffered simultaneously from Sandy Mcnabs and NSU. He was one dirty get and was a regular at the CMH co-ck-doctors. Once a month he’d have to troop up there (next to a WRAC block as I remember) to get his bollocking off the sanctimonious GU nurses. As soon as his ears stopped ringing he’d leg it down Hospital Hill and have his willy up the first one-legged 60 year old, Turkish prozzie he could find. He was always dosed up and had a PD drawer full of antibiotics and porn. He had something once, I don’t know quite what, but his dick looked like a can of coke and he said it started to sting if anyone came within ten feet of it.

I came back from down town one afternoon with my latest poster of a woman scratching her arrse playing tennis, to find him, on his scratcher, milking his manhood and picking crabs out of his pee-yabs. As I said to Terry, you know your in the British Army, when you don’t bat an eyelid, when you walk in on someone writing his initials on his counterpane with Gonorhhoea Juice and pressing crabs into a big blob of blu-tack.

Come on you fcuking screamers. Is this NAAFI full of students and fat women?
 

Fang_Farrier

LE
Kit Reviewer
Book Reviewer
#8
Whilst working at a Joint med/dental Centre some where in the South of England(next to an closed Navy Dock and full of Sappers!) As usual Unit is on Block leave but Dental never seem to recognise so there's basically only the guard on the gate and few others in camp.
Guard Landrover rolls up, back door opens, young sapper thrown from back. Already several suspicious bruises appearing before he lands. Been on guard for the week with several others on about day 5 admits that Body Armour and other kit he'd been sharing might have a few creepy crawlies on it, more specificially crabs.
As you can imagine, the rest of the guard were very sympathic and it was only by the quick action of the Guard Corparol that he made it to the med centre alive.
Good news for him was that he was relived from guard duty, bad news had to spend a couple of nights in local hospital!
 
#9
This is the best thread I ages to come across (eurgh) the Naafi, and it's been widely ignored. That means one of three things:

1. There's one too many Rodneys here, and we've been too busy monogamously coupling with nice clean girls from Farnham to incurr a trip to the GU clinic.

2. There's a lot of hangers on who don't know what outlaw sex is.

3. There's plenty of grotty toms kicking around who, even as you read this, are setting about their todgers with the toilet duck and wire wool, but are trying to get one of the arrse birds in the sack, so don't want them to know about their many flirtations with the French problem.

My money is on 3, but in an effort to bump start this thread towards its rightful glory, i'll relate my only blobby nob story. I apologise in advance as, for all my efforts, it is still pretty crap.

I got a NSU when I was 12. I remember I had gone for a celebratory wazz in the playground toilets after giving Tim Buckmore's 166-er a death crack with my recently white spirited 10-er. Aglow with the kind of victory few experience in a lifetime, I aimed myself whilst holding my breath against the stench rendered by generations of short-trousered boys p1ssing indiscriminately about the outhouse and etching their favourite football team with poo in the cubicles.

Nothing happened.

Then it started to burn. A great deal. When you're 12, your penis is doing some crazy things at the best of times and you get extremely self conscious and protective about it. Imagine my surprise, then, when a small trickle of decidedly bloody urine seeped out and puddled on my Clarks Commandos. Petrified, I did what every sensible burgeoning adult would do in that situation - I swore to God, Obi Wan and The Voice of The Mysterons that I would never wank again if they prevent my willy falling off.

I must stress that I was not sexually active at the time. I had only just managed to make the connection between that stuff that came out of me when I gave myself a special tickle with my desire to see Georgina Gilmour's knickers during PE. I did, however, masturbate. A lot. I remember that I used to be able to smuggle the 'Woman' section of The Daily Mail to the toilet and it would do the job. My life actually changed the moment I strayed from the toy section of the Great Universal catalogue for the first time and saw a grown woman in her pants. Unfortunately, with self discovery comes guilt, and I knew instinctively that what I was doing was wrong. Hiding the evidence proved difficult, and often unhygienic.

I don't know how often you wash your curtains, but if you have an adolescent manchild, for the sake of his urinary health you should wash them more often. And the underside of rugs. And the dog blanket (joke - I think).

Anyway, by the time I got really scared, I reported to the school doctor. No doubt he had read about the moral decline of today's youth and assumed I had been daisy chaining the gypsy girls whilst high on bostick. I was completely oblivious to his prejudices however, and proudly presented a chit to my swimming teacher announcing my inability to get cold and wet due to "Non specialfic urifightis miss." She was always a bit 'off' with after that...
 

cpunk

LE
Moderator
#10
Ah Belize! Home of the more interesting sexually transmitted diseases. Being a bit of a cowardy custard, I always shied away from bonking the birds in Raoul's because I was scared of getting Aids or something equally nasty. Instead I got a dose of NSU from the Matron at the Force Hospital in Airport Camp, which I suppose helped to keep it all 'in house'. I retaliated by giving her the good news with a warty finger at every opportunity, though love's young dream didn't last long enough for me to see whether it had propagated. She later married a rather posh Coldstreamer and every time I see him I wonder whether he did cop a cauliflower knob.
 
#11
I once got a cauliflower c0ck after going clean fatigue on a dodgy lass I met in the 'crystal rooms' once upon a time. She bought me a kebab though so I suppose thats a fair one. I couldnt get an appointment at Gloucester General so I had to queue up at the 'first come first served' session at the dick doctors clinic. Trouble was the clinic was right outside the main entrance to the hopital so I had to endure geting laughed at by all the nurses going in to work.

There were all sorts of people in the queue mind, from 12 year old chicks to posh looking couples.

Anyway, after geting the pull-through with a cotton bud and a full inpection the doc informed me that I also had NSU and another rarer type of warts. Three for the price of one, result!!

Never went back to her though.
 
#12
Antibiotics?

Clinics?

You basstards had it easy!

An old mate of mine was a boy soldier in the 20's. One of his more distressing duties, along with the other youngesters, was to hold down the poor bloke who was getting the sulphur umbrella treatment in the medical room.

He told me once that that task did more to warn him about the perils of VD than any amount of lectures from the MO.
 
#13
An old oppo of mine (no names no pack drill etc but WEF now will be known as soldier x) was one of these minging gits who would eat his scabs, toe jam, ear wax, bogies, the whole lot. It goes without saying that his sexual appetite was so depraved that it was only matched by his afore mentioned eating exploits.
Whilst going through the mandatory marriage break up, soldier x was lying in the bath have a leisurely milk whilst thinking about some NAAFI bird that he had been burying his junk in. Obviously even mentally going over the horrors of Mick Jagging a fat bird is enough to give a man an appetite, and so soldier x developed a hunger. As if by devine intervention he noticed a couple of small but choice scabs fresh for consuming, situated around his pubic region.
He picked the first one, held it to his nose like a fine Shiraz and bit into it. The scab had a strange texture and yielded to easily to his teeth, so soldier x, driven by curiosity, picked off another scab and examined it. At which point said scab sprouted legs and scuttled down his finger, seeking the sanctury of the bush from whence it came.
 
#14
RTFQ said:
This is the best thread I ages to come across (eurgh) the Naafi, and it's been widely ignored. That means one of three things:

1. There's one too many Rodneys here, and we've been too busy monogamously coupling with nice clean girls from Farnham to incurr a trip to the GU clinic.

2. There's a lot of hangers on who don't know what outlaw sex is.

3. There's plenty of grotty toms kicking around who, even as you read this, are setting about their todgers with the toilet duck and wire wool, but are trying to get one of the arrse birds in the sack, so don't want them to know about their many flirtations with the French problem.

My money is on 3, but in an effort to bump start this thread towards its rightful glory, i'll relate my only blobby nob story. I apologise in advance as, for all my efforts, it is still pretty crap.
May I suggest one more?

4. There are a lot of regular squaddies who have had their share of the standing ovations -- syph, gonorrhea AND the clap...the treble, if you will -- but whose lovely wives like to read what they post. And haven't yet come clean, so to speak, about that scorching dose they picked up off a Norwegian free spirit (Hi, Tankie!) or a bored German hooker.
 
#15
I've got NSU (again) at the moment, only caused by a bit of a Kidney infection but by the Lord Harry it's brought back some fcuking bad memories. Pissing razorblades for the last 3 weeks, finally got round to visiting the doc. Been on antibiotics for about 5 days and its getting better, P*ss looks like Theakstons and feels like Chilli Sauce
 
#16
I think that blokes who display their warty c-ocks in pubs deserve some sort of award.

Always a humorous visual delight, the wartiest I ever saw belonged to a cook in Holdfast whose bell-end was that be-barnacled it looked like one of the cannons of the Mary Rose.
 
#17
Some festering slop jockey who probably had a belizean hooker living in an MFO box in the block, once imparted some wise words to me.
"If you want a bit of a posh thrap, then get yourself a nice bit of warm liver. But....." At this point he held his finger up for a dramatic pause. "Make sure you wash it out first or you can get NSU." He then vigorously scratched his genitals, winced and left to begin a shift in the cookhouse.
I never ate liver in the army again.
 
#18
I concur convoy. Although I would draw the line a blokes picking the warts off in the block showers and shedding wart-infected cock blood all over the ablutions floor. He should have kept the warts if you ask me, it was most fetching and his old chap looked like it had an afro, such was the colony of warts clinging to his bell.
 
#19
the_rigger said:
Some festering slop jockey who probably had a belizean hooker living in an MFO box in the block, once imparted some wise words to me.
"If you want a bit of a posh thrap, then get yourself a nice bit of warm liver. But....." At this point he held his finger up for a dramatic pause. "Make sure you wash it out first or you can get NSU." He then vigorously scratched his genitals, winced and left to begin a shift in the cookhouse.
I never ate liver in the army again.
I Knew a guy who used to take the middle sausage out of the old sausage compo tin and used it like a blow up dolls ringpiece to deposit his man fat .It put me off compo sausages which was annoying cos I quite fookin like them the tw@t









Edited for spelling
 
#20
One happy evening I goes back into camp complete with Choco Death and a 4-Pack from the Naafi all set to watch a flick on the Tele. The Hunt for Red october... Anyways!

As I walked along the corridor I heard "Ow ya fcuk... Ow ya bastard... Shit... Ow" Nothing unusual there at the most somebody is bursting a spot on his lip/nose/ear or other painful area. So i cracks on and closes my door and buts the box on.

About half way through the film I heard a penetrating Agonising Squeel. Followed by lots of screaming and banging around. Due to the content of the film i obviously decided that The Commies had invaded and this was my chance to bag a ruskie as i was getting well into it. Or there was a fight. So i charges down the corridor Bang on the door as crying and clattering around can be heard and i started to smell smoke.

"IM COMING IN" With that the Fire extinguisher comes off the wall and gets whacked through the door.

"NO DONT COME IN" There lying on the floor was one of the older lads in the platoon. Knob in hand blood on field dressing and a softie jacket burnt to a crisp.

Once he had dressed himself and put his knob back in the mess tin of icy water he told me the story.

He was having a wank when he discovers a wart on his knob. Naturally he didnt want his mrs to know that he had been sh@gging that fat monster who works in the naffi at warcop camp, plus other bridge dwellers. So he decided ameteur surgery was the way forward. Armed with a Mach 3 and some TCP he took one stroke as it took 3 and began shaving the fcuker. This wasnt working so armed with a stanley knife blade which he burnt with issue windproof matches to "sterilise" it. He began cutting. Trip slip cut. Lots of blood. So out comes the field dressing small for the use of. Whilst sat clotting the blood. He had a vision that if he soaked his knob in icy water then used the matches to burn the fcuker off it wouldn't hurt.

He Was Wrong. He Fried his knob with a deep burn set fire to his pubes and dropped the match on his jacket. That was when Kurt Russel here did his backdraft routine all set to win a medal or kill a commie.

The happy ending of it all was that he broke clean with his mrs, She binned him. Another two or three warts joined the other one. & he is left with a huge scar which is apparently ten times more obvious than a wart anyway. Not to mention being a legend in his own time for all the wrong reasons!

Morale to the story Shag whoever you want. But let the medics fix it!
 

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