Golden Moments...

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by cpunk, Jul 29, 2005.

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  1. cpunk

    cpunk LE Moderator

    Time to cheer ourselves up, what with the Polizei descending on half the country and CS gassing it.

    Rather than the normal appalling foulness which infests the Naafi - anyone remember the despicable Mong Thread? - I thought it time to remember a few 'Golden Moments'. These are the rare times in ones life when everything works out perfectly and you start to think 'Maybe I am God's chosen one?'.

    Mine took place in Belfast in the summer of '86, when men were men and PIRA were doing more than kneecapping rival drug-dealers. I got a postcard from a girl I'd fancied at University, telling me she was coming over to Norniron for the weekend for a wedding, and could I pick her up from the Airport. She was a beautiful, tall, willowy, slightly hippy, posh bird, and I'd been desperate to get into her trollies but had never achieved it - I was insufficiently 'cultured' - but we'd always been quite friendly and we'd stayed in touch (Feck knows what her reasons were, but I do know what mine were). Anyway, I dutifully picked her up on Friday afternoon and took her to her hotel, which was all very nice; then suggested that we might go out for a look around Belfast city centre later that evening.

    Now at this time, for your average London bird, Belfast had an image similar to Baghdad: bullets; bombs; kidnappings; kneecappings. Of course, it wasn't actually like that at all. The city centre was sealed behind a security cordon and, as usual, terrorism was taking place in the ghettoes and the border. Belfast city centre wasn't really much different to Bristol, Cardiff or Glasgow. I left her to have a rest and recompose herself after her dramatic drive from the Airport and went to sort myself out.

    Returning at 7.00pm-ish, I found her in 'war-zone' combat kit: jeans, donkey jacket, uncompromising shirt and Doc Martens; and thus we launched into Belfast's nightlife. It kicked off with a couple of beers at the Elbow Room, listening to a very good Van Morrison impressionist. I suddenly realised I was in when she squeezed my leg and then began trying to stick her tongue down my throat during 'Moondance'. A small lightbulb appeared above my head at this stage, and I decided to take her to a small Italian place quite close by - buggered if I can remember what it was called - which seemed to fit the bill. After a quick fettucine al forno and a bottle of Barolo, I took her back to the hotel which, as it happened, had a coffee making set in the room (unusual in those days).

    Now clearly I'd been doing OK up until now. She'd been matching me drink for drink; we'd snogged; we'd eaten together. Back in her hotel room, it was quite warm and I took off my jumper, at which point, she saw I was 'packing heat'.

    'You're carrying a gun!'



    At this point, the inner Mitty took over:

    'It's best I don't tell you.'

    Of course, the reality was that I was a platoon commander in an infantry battalion and I wasn't allowed out of the gates without signing out the duty pistol and ten rounds.


    I draw a veil over what happened over the next two days, except to say that, at the age of 22, I experienced my first blow-job to completion and the first time I achieved my aims via the tradesmens' entrance.

    A 'Golden Moment'. More please...
  2. Damn good skills. Quality.
  3. I thought that this thread was about the first time you achieved a golden shower (gave or received). Never mind :D
  4. I was at university in the late 80's. I got friendly (in a purely platonic way) with a rather posh girl living in the halls of residence and would turn up there now and then for a drink and a chat (etc). It was all very pleasant, I was a young bloke who was new to all this posh Brideshead Revisited type lifestyle and was pleasantly surprised to find that the Sloanes were quite happy to socialise with an oik such as myself.

    So, in the spring term of my first year I found myself in the bar (Newcastle Brown Ale: 70p/bottle) with a couple of the girls and their boyfriends. It was a warm, balmy evening and one of the girls was an army brat (curvy, almost plump, bobbed hair, big brown eyes) and knew I was in the TA and kept suggesting that she found men in combat gear extremely sexy (which is odd, because most of the daughters of soldiers I've met find the military frankly a bit of a bore). To cut a long story short I turned up outside her room at 2300, a la CP's inner walt, in my combats, half-cut and proceeded to have my wicked way with her. Like many posh birds I've had the privilege of knowing, she was a brazen, randy, depraved slut. Hallelujah.

    She had a boyfriend at another uni so we started an infrequent, covert relationship where I would bang her every now and then without her friends knowing about it. Everybody was happy.

    One night I was creeping out of her room (sated, knackered, smug) and tip-toeing down the corridor after one of these assignations at about 0100 when her friend who lived in the room opposite this bird I was sh*gging (let's call her Helen) comes rocking up the corridor and catches me.

    "Veg, what are you doing here?"

    Er, I was looking for Rachel, wanted to see if she fancied coming to a party at our house" I lied, improbably.

    "Oh, don't worry about that, come and have a party with me, I've got some vodka in my room" she said, and dragged me into her room where despite my post-coital state I found myself performing all over again with this other bird until about 0400.

    I finally staggered back to my digs wondering if I was indeed imagining this bizarre turn of events (it's not like I'm a particularly dashing blade or anything) but thanking whatever deity runs the shop for what could only, indeed, be classed as a golden moment: the day that I squired two extremely attractive, upper-class gels in a manner that would have made Mellors the Gardener proud.

  5. Yes, nice story but no "Golden Shower".

    Am I missing something in the story, now not wanting to put a dampner on it but where you out by yourself, as in no buddy? Whenever I was out wandering Belfast with a 9mm stuffed on my person, there was a rule that you had to have a buddy similary armed, you were never alone whatever your rank. Many was the night I played gooseberry when one of the lads was having it away with one of the local girls, interesting moments.........
  6. edited to nothing because of the poor quality!

    have given myself lines

    "i will not post while drunk"
  7. Class :lol: That has to be the thinnest veil ever ... :lol:
  8. No, he didn't mention the pistol
  9. This may count as a Golden Moment, despite the lack of bedtime action, but it is a memory I treasure anyway.

    Newly separated, living in the Mess and facing another lonely weekend, a brother aviator in similar straits invited me to partake in a weekend support ex for a nearby TA unit. Initially, the offer appeared less than welcome, compared to another opportunity to wander around Ripon in a drunken stupor, what with my partiality for Old Peculier.

    "But Cloud" he said, "it's a hospital!"

    No contest. And although I may sometimes curse myself for displaying too much control over my baser urges, I truely believe that the advice, care and compassion shown to me over that weekend helped me through a very low period in my life.

    Ladies of 201, I thank you.
  10. Not a golden moment per se, but certainly one that I can actually remember - as opposed to the many others which I can't. I was living in the block at BZN sometime in the mid-'80s. My particular block (543 Reptile House) was directly opposite the Pigs Bar. This was a very handy state of affairs, as the main corridor acted like an illuminated runway from the bar door all the way to my single, non-en suite wnak palace at the other end: stagger down the active, fall to the right, and job's a good un.

    The thing was, that the block's convenient location to both the Pigs Bar and the Spotlight Club made it very easy for its occupants to spirit away their nightly catch for some boffing action, and the sound of high heels clip clopping along the corridor was as regular as the VC10s blasting past my window.

    Late one night I got up for a slash. Being the days before private hot & cold running urinals, this necessitated me having to use the normal bogs. Whilst relieving myself, I heard the unmistakable sound of the high heels coming up the corridor - with a slightly out-of-step cadence to them. I duly tucked the ol' chap back in to his stowage and made my way out of the bogs only to bump in to this (slightly the worse for wear) bird, who proceded to inquire where such n' such was. I'd never heard of the bloke she was looking for, but always willing to assist, I took her to the nominal roll in the enterance and looked over it to see if this guy lived there - which he appeared not to.

    'Never mind... you'll do!' she retorted, and promptly stuck her tongue in my gob. Again, always willing to assist, she was swiftly deposited in my boudoir and fcuked silly. To her credit, there wasn't much she was incapable of despite her condition. I got bored after a while and decided it was time she went home. After much staggering and giggling, I eventuall managed to get her out of the block and over to Gate 2 - and more importantly - out of it. Last seen waddling off in the direction of Cartoontown.

    Reasonably satisfied with the evening's proceedings, I return, sated, to Sleaze HQ. Upon my return, I fling back the blankets (duvets are for puffs) only to discover that she'd deposited the contents of her whomb all over the fcuking sheetery. It looked like party night at Denis Nielsen's gaff. Sheets - fcuked; mattress cover - totaled; and the mattress itself looked like it'd been dragged through an abbatoir. Thankfully, I swapped it for a newie that was in an empty room, and duly avoided having to pay for another one. Cheers easy. It could've been worse I suppose. At least she didn't sh1t herself.