Lou and the taste of Vim

Ive just had a nudge on Facebook requesting my friendship from a bloke named 'Lou'..

'Lou' was in the room upon my arrival at my first draft, with niceties aside he showed me my pit, briefed me up on the do's and dont's scratched his sizable arrse then went back to his book..Fair one I thought, gets into sports rig, and goes for a wander round, now being 17 and it being a Saturday, naivety prevailed and my overall impression was that although it was a little windswept, out of the way and desolate, it was a quiet place, good amenities and a thankful far cry from training..

All smashed apart at 2 ish the next morning when 'Lou' came back from the lash, after dragging me out of my pit by my ankles, and not long after he planted his boot straight into my coccyx to the accompanying soundtrack of his laughing pal he had trashed my pit space quite spectacularly, pretty eye opening stuff, little words were said, he bubbled on about god knows what then gave me a bear hug before slinging me back on the bed laughing, him and his mate then sat up till six spinning dits and listening to music.

Next day not a word....not a peep, after a couple of other lads floated back in prepping for Monday it was largely forgotten, a trend started to occur though, being stuck in camp most weekends inevitably ended up in either 'Lou' smashing me about a bit, 'Lou' dragging me out drinking then smashing me about a bit or me discreetly finding something else to do until the meathead had gone to sleep :D

Finer moments in our love affair for that sh*t three months was 'Lou' driving his heel into my bare toes as I shaped my spare lid in the hall mirror, 'Lou' jumping off a locker onto my back sending me in turn ribs first onto a fire extinguisher hook in the wall and 'Lou' force feeding me a sock full of Vim and water when I was ambushed in the heads by him and his pal (hence the thread title!)

To elaborate, 'Lou' was in his late thirties, larger than your average prop and was infamous for malletting half a matelow Field Gun Team in Pompey the previous xmas leave, chuck in a load of Falklands related head wobbling issues and it pretty much explains his wierdness.

The only advice sniggered to me and 3 others that were on the harsh end of senior guys fun and games at that particular time was to fight back, I made one admirable attempt whereby I punched away at his head and face and would love to go all Steve Preece and say I made my point but he looked mildly angry and put his hands down, only for him to then pick me up by my ears and mandible and shake me about, a lot.

All that aside he was a nice bloke, not a lot he couldnt teach and was forever throwing me bits of gucci gear to fill up my beltkit..

Anyways it all stopped pretty much as soon as it started and we developed a friendship of sorts based around punk music and swapping books, last I saw of him was when on BPC and he was creeping round Brize in civvies for unknown reasons, last I heard of him was when he had passed his e mail to a mutual friend who I worked with in Afghanistan telling me to say hello..

Ill be his pal I think, with trepidation, If I meet him for a few wets and he throws me all over Yates before making me do handstands for him again ill be most disappointed with myself..

Tell us about your block monster....
EX_STAB said:
He must have recognised that you were a cnut even at that tender age.
I thought you'd like the idea of me being smashed around, still it must be a sickener for you considering every lad at that age had done more in 8 months at Lympstone than youve managed to eek out over half a lifetime of miserable pretending ..
Big Eddie, normally to be seen wearing coveralls, boots minus laces and a polished steel para lid. He kept tropical fish and depending on his mood which changed hourly from deep depression to manic, furious bouts of masturbation, he'd ritually kill one before slinging it under his bed.

His room smelt like the low-tide mark on a northern beach but had more flotsam in the form of empty vodka bottles and broken tellies. He once dismembered a boiler room feral cat because, in his words, 'It fucking still owed me a fiver from last month'

Eddie is the naked, hot soup thrower from some of my previous posts; a man banned from his adopted home town of Kirkwall, Orkney and now currently doing life for the murder of a student.

His thick Yorkshire twang was the last sound many of God's creature's would hear and the first sound that many a fast food proprieter would hear before being blinded by a cup of cream of mushroom.

He was also the proud owner of a penis that resembled a tree root. The same penis would be gently tugged whilst he'd stand naked over your bed in the twilight hours as he'd ask 'Can I borrow your skis?' regardless of the fact that:

a. It was summer.
b. We were in Aldershot.
c. I didn't ski.
d. Neither did Eddie.
The creature that was MDN. Never forget him lobbing his todger out onto a shoulder of an unsuspecting Air Trooper in Block 14 in Minden and leaving it there as Air Trooper carried on chatting oblivious to the laugter of all and sundry til MDN started to wank and all hell broke loose. Funny as fcuk.
reni_77 said:
EX_STAB said:
He must have recognised that you were a cnut even at that tender age.
I thought you'd like the idea of me being smashed around, still it must be a sickener for you considering every lad at that age had done more in 8 months at Lympstone than youve managed to eek out over half a lifetime of miserable pretending ..

wednesday night, Norton Manor involved the sprogs desperately trying to stop the duty old school wretch from smashing/kicking/head butting his way into the grot after having self medicating down town on his sports afternoon

You could hear the fecker singing as he zig zagged down the main drag.

Next morning he always seemed slighty perplexed as to how he couldn't open any of the dors as he'd kicked the handles off, but could almost fit his head in some of the hole he'd made

O how we laughed
The barracks monster was a woman (allegedly) built like a shot putter face like a welders bench

She used to get rangooned and try and catch some unsuspecting soul to inflict her self on

SepticNorman said:
I would of broken the cnut's legs with an iron bar while he was asleep, reni
Im sure you would have treacle, call me old fashioned but at 17 I didnt fancy juggling the 5 or 6 other war damaged lunatics that haunted the accomodation :)
FiveAlpha said:
Describe his penis please. Girth, weight, definition, colour and tang will do for starters.
Well one things for certain, he was in a room full of fresh faced eager young men so it would have been painfully tumescent.
The Rat ! (May his name be spoken in hushed tones)
First couple of nights in battalion had to share a room with ajoining bunk occupied by the man himself before being moved to a rifle coy block.

About 12 o'clock this character staggers in, falls over my bed, about the age of my dad, and slurs
"Who the f@ck are you?"

"I'm just up from depot" says I, fresh faced and tight of buttock.

He then vomits on my bed and farts loudly and says "Are you airborne?"
"Yes", I venture apprehensively, "I've been to Brize"

"I'll show you airborne you crow f@cker"
Takes of soiled jeans and rams his arrse about 2 inches from my face.

The biggest, ugliest set of piles you could imagine, a proctologist would have a life's work on his bum grapes and need go no further. I swear to this day that they were moving even when he wasn't. The chalfonts had their own microclimate. Oozing, scabby rectal prolapse like something from a bad B movie. And the smell, the rancid, unforgettable stench of open sores and decomposing dung.

Welcome to battalion.
Lou was pretty much my only taste of being defenceless, I never quite got into the routine though of slinging sprogs round for fun, would have made a sh*t bully really, had far too much fun going on, was either on a run ashore or I was cavorting with someones beloved but I did fall in love with one sprog who came to Stonehouse.

Tommo, cracking lad from Southampton, jammy b*stard had cashed in his pennies from an inheritance at 18 and had spent 3 years wandering the planet, and I mean, wandering like a f*cking Nomad..every sh*thole under the sun and every bit in-between before returning to join the Corps, he'd gone RE with a view for 59 but told them, in his words, to poke it after being bounced for having a sly tab in the early hours of the morning out the back but had watched every fat knacker who failed any phys being chivvied along and encouraged..

Anyhow, we had our own ubiqioutus 'Big Dave', a right f*cking header of a Bristolian who'd messed up a chance to nip off to Sale Sharks for a couple of years by nipping the nose off a doorman and re-adjusting an intervening off duty coppers face when on leave. He was a sound bloke though, just big and daft, I spent just short of a year stealing his pillows as often as they were re-issued and sticking them above the tiling in the heads, he would fly into my room and scream 'if you get any snifters on who's doing this Al f*cking let me know right mate !?!?' , to which id peer, Orwellian like over my well thumbed copy of 'Papillon' and reply softly, 'certainly mate, pretty sure its some c*nt from another block though...sit down, chill, hot wet ?'

Tommo turned up and was a right chipper, I was endeared to him purely by his box of phots that were truly awesome and the fact he sheepily asked me where he could do his dhobi as he had a pair of p*ssed jeans and a vommed shirt that needed doing as he'd double slammed at his birds house early hours that morning.

Dave, true to form got stuck into Tommo, usual stuff, 'get your f*cking gear on your coming out', 'sort this f*cking room out' ect ect, bit of pushing and pulling and the odd slap but it was evident that Tommo was holding back a bit, all pretty apparent one Sunday morning when the almightiest crash sent me sprinting to the corridor, poor old Dave, all 6"1 of him had been slung into the full length mirror back first, stamped all over from groin to fizzer and the coup de grace of a waist propelled headbutt had demolished his eye socket, Tommo was wobbly lipped, I f*cked him off to his pit and got Dave sorted out and that was the end of that..apparently tenting it up in Guam, living 'bush' in Namibia, evading border bribes in the Far East and mixing it up in bars every night in every South American sh*thole you can think of had evidently given Tommo a bit of an edge when it came to being cornered, he still cried though..the f*cking girl :D

(On Daves last day some technical whizzkid managed to double whammy his car with a thundie and a green smoke when he opened the door :D )
Bugger me I missed this one.

On arrival in Minden I was greeted by a bloke called Frank Salt, Ex Para Regt and now a long service RA Staffy. Hated Air Troopers and hated Air Troopers that meant he had to work past 5 O clock even more.

'Backslider like you cost us a bridge' he mumbled as I struggled up the main drag, carrying bedding, bergan, suitcase, sausage bag and his fcuking briefcase, apparently he had to hold up the world on his shoulders......

'In there you lanky cnut' he pointed, grabbed his briefcase, called me some more names and vanished into the German winters evening.

The block was empty, happy hour had been called in the bar. Shortly after I was dragged over and introduced to Herfy and sat quietly in the corner waiting to be murdered. Loads of blokes walked past and ignored me, some came over with relief in their eyes that they weren't the sprog anymore. Some kind chap handed me a pint of nice hot p1ss, which I thought I'd better neck or I'd be having to neck a whole lot more.

As the evening drew to a close, ACDC Rosie played, followed by Meatloaf, crying out loud..... I remain quite aware of my surroundings incase I was leapt on or attacked by nasty cnuts intent on making my intro to BAOR a messy one.

On arrival at my bedspace I was elated to see it had been trashed and swamped in and my prize Linda Lusardi was now sporting a big cock, a tache and a lable with 'fcuk whore' on it. Then a cry from the end of the block 'Bllllloooccckk run'

Three or four lads appeared in my room, suggested I should be bollocky and that I had to run around the block in 14 seconds....... Linford Christie couldn't have done it in twenty and he didn't have blokes opening their windows hurling p1ss, shit, vomit, books, bricks, helmets and rifle mags at him.

As I appeared back where it had begun I thought it was all over, I walked into the block and felt something cold jammed into my crimper. I tensed, like you would when you are anally violated and slowly turned round. Timmy still had his hand on the bottle of the Herfy, he'd forced it up my shitter with a big grin on his chops, I was gripping it in the fear that it would continue up my cackpipe with his hand attached............ A more menacing grin I've never seen, then with a cheer he pulled it out. Instead of releif I felt my innards fall on the floor between my feet, there on top of some blood, a bit of cack and some herfy, there was my arrsehole...... the cnut had left the lid on and it broke my bottom.
reni,were you bullied at school as well?

*** the reccy mech (sadly passed away at the age of 21) pissed most nights,eating the glass he'd just drunk his pint from,back to the block,music on full blast to ensure that we were all awake the whole friggin weekend.Too big to argue with,too pissed to argue with always let you buy him a pint.A good mate all round when sober.

God I miss those days
"Swampy" made me feel very welcome by sticking the nut on me immediately after I said hello for "Being Northern". He followed this up by following me into the shower where he and his equally unhinged mates dragged me out and down the corridor by my c0ck shouting "new joiner". As I struggled along hoping my penis didn't tear off, he invited everyone to punch me in the arse.

He did help me with my admin though, occasionally he would iron my kit, albeit whilst I was wearing it and break in my boots by shitting and wanking into them. In the morning he'd kindly wake me by crushing my scrotum between his ginagorous fingers.

There must also be something about block monsters and piles, as when Swampy's chalfonts were playing up he would take off his clothes, lay face down on your bed and hand you a biro with the order "Poke them fuckers back up". On completion he would force the pen into the mouth of the next bloke to walk through the door.

On the lash, he was a top oppo, always buying the drinks, always trapping the birds for you and always backed you up when it kicked off. His legend faded when he cried like a girl when his wife left him he was never the same after that, in fact he turned into a fcuking fanny.

Edited twice for cuntish spelling.
I remember The Rat well, MT platoon's finest. I went out with him to celebrate his being promoted to lance jack (he'd done about 21 years by then). Smashed out of our heads in the Traff, the Rat on his favourite Vodka Lemonade. The next day he was back down to private, he'd managed to set fire to his bunk during the night and other such mayhem. Never saw his Nobby Styles though, nor did I want to.
The Block Monster I remember the most was the Screaming Skull. Absolute lunatic of a guy. In those days in Munster the QMs was in the basement and for some reason known only to the QM all bedspace items were removed from a room when that room was vacated. That meant you not only had to carry your bedding and mattress up to your room (his was on the 3rd floor) but the bedside locker (steel) and the steel locker they issued in those days, you know, the ones with the steel mirror in them. Not being bothered to wait for assistance the Skull picks up his wardrobe and trots up to his room at almost a sprint, short work in carrying all his stuff up to his room.
If you annoyed the Skull he would be very polite and say things, in a quiet voice like "I say old boy, would you turn down your music, there's a good chap". This request would be made once, the next time the music system would be seen sailing out of the window, complaints were usually met with the complainant being dangled out of the window by an ankle held in one hand and constantly moving up and down like a giant wanking motion.
He later moved his Mrs out to Germany and fun would be had when he would 'jail' her by locking her in the garage for sometimes days on end. He could drink anyone under the table and wouldn't take no for an answer. One Christmas Day he invited 3 singly NIGs round and got them so paralytic they all three passed out. He carried them all to the street and propped them against his fence. He then called the RMP and said there were drunks at the bottom of his garden. One time after a mess function (he was a sergeant by this time) he blagged a lift off the duty driver because it was shitting it down, a real torrential downpour. About a mile or so from his house he made Cpl .... (the duty clutch) stop the Lanny and ordered his wife to get out and run in front of the Lanny shouting out Cpl ...... is an effing wonder. If she flagged he made the driver nudge her to encourage more speed and stamina.
Alas, the last I heard, and to no-one at all's surprise he too was doing life for murder, it seems that civvies got up his nose more than anything.
twosugarsnomilk said:
reni,were you bullied at school as well?

*** the reccy mech (sadly passed away at the age of 21) pissed most nights,eating the glass he'd just drunk his pint from,back to the block,music on full blast to ensure that we were all awake the whole friggin weekend.Too big to argue with,too pissed to argue with always let you buy him a pint.A good mate all round when sober.

God I miss those days
Quite the opposite, just never had a massive hard on for sprog bashing, although tormenting, year long wind ups were extremely more fun, I'm in a few copies of the Globe and Buster though, generally looking essence on an abseil rope, striding god like across a rugby pitch in an Arbroath storm and a belter of me at 21 delivering the good news to a hat Staffy :D :D

Ive got to be fair to 'Lou', he got me well clued up very quickly on the finer points of soldiering, I had the best beltkit of all the sprogs, he continually slung me mountains of kit and nutty but once coerced me into hiding 30 pairs of Hi Tec Magnums that he'd half inched from a store, I sat on those boots for a month before he off loaded them, he then palmed me a hundred sovs and a 'nice one'. He was also one of the fabled owners of a 'stained' bayonet from his trip down south, cant believe he is a f*cking Probation Officer now ! :D

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