Female Officers

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by Tastytoggle, Mar 12, 2010.

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  1. There was a thread concerning the pros and cons of female officers which only the Mods could access. It brought back memories of the changes which saw the demise of the WRAC and women more actively involved in the routines of their male counter parts. One exercise in BAOR saw an extremely pretty young looey at Div Rear being drooled at by so many blokes that it prompted a poem (if that's what it can be called) - it's got no place in the arty thread though, so here it is.

    The Exercise Syndrome

    “I’d ‘ave some of that” thought the Squaddie, as he ogled his officer, fair.
    “All bosom and bum – wish I could ‘ave some,
    An’ she’s got ever such luverly ‘air.

    An’ how come ‘er combats fit tightly, when mine fit like a sack tied in the middle?
    If I look at ‘er too long, I get a hell of a dong,
    An’ it’s awfully difficult to piddle.

    P’raps it’s an Exercise syndrome, what makes you notice female officers more,
    In the squalor and muck, and with a shed load of luck,
    It might just be possible to score.

    But my tactical plan’s pretty ropy, just a few lines of patter and cheek.
    If she don’t go for that, at the drop of a hat,
    She could stick me on guard for a week.

    Time to be sneaky and deceitful, get the grey cells turning over a while,
    With some bottle and luck I might yet get a fcuk,
    But it requires considerable guile.

    Yes. There’s definitely some better method, more than one way to light up a fag.
    If I wait ‘til she she’s sleeping, then go quietly creeping,
    I could unzip and climb into her bag.

    “It’s just me – the Colonel – young lady. No panic. No reason for noise.”
    Stick it in and about, then it’s over and out,
    An’ I can scuttle right back to the boys.

    Now, the loosest of plans can be winners and the very best plans can go wrong,
    But if you’ve listened to me, then I think you’ll agree,
    That my plan should’ve earned me a gong.

    But, the fickle finger of fate is a bastard. It’ll trip you arse over head with a titter.
    I climbed into her bag and not wishing to lag,
    Shoved it right up – the old Colonel’s shitter…………..

    By the cringe, he was shocked, I can tell you! An’ I was away on my toes like a rocket!
    An’ whilst she groaned with pleasure, having at last had full measure,
    He was wailing and rubbing his socket.

    Now, the moral of this tale is quite simple, when on Exercise, just leave it out.
    Let the women alone, until you get ‘ome,
    An’ don’t fcuk the Colonel about!