Sex - Your Best Ever Shag"

Well, the New Years here. Let’s start as we mean to go on, eh?

I was reflecting on times past when the memory of a wet and stormy night spent under canvas on Bergen Hohne rifle ranges came to mind. There were 4 of us inside a marquee, guarding a pile of tents which were ready to be put up in the morning for a major international SAA meeting. It was a bit of a short notice detail and consequently, we never even had a pack of cards to play with, but we talked and although “Sex – Your Best Ever Shag” isn’t the sort of topic title that soldiers readily discuss (Huurrrmph) - we did.
Pandy’s tale was memorable only because of its unusual finale, which in the afterglow of feverish and somewhat intoxicated intimacy saw him sat on the carpet leaning back against the sofa, whilst his host sat on the sofa beside him. Hearing her sigh, he looked up at her over his shoulder and was gratified by the dreamy look on her face which (erroneously as it turned out) apparently served to confirm his belief that he was indeed the Sex God that he considered himself to be. As she leaned towards him, he smilingly puckered up and closed his eyes – only to be doused in the face by a throat load of hot vomit.

Such revelations did little to inspire continued interest in what had at first seemed to be a very promising topic and so, prompted by the smell of canvas and the bags of tents poles and pegs upon which we were reclined, I shared my precious memories of the night that I lost my virginity.

I was only 17 and fresh out of training, but already enjoying myself as a young sprog in Edinburgh. One morning, the CSM collared me.

“Right, Brother, ‘Appen, I’ve got a little job for you. Get into your combats, get your CEMO – you won’t need your helmet though – pick up a pistol holster, lanyard and 24 hour ration pack from the Q, then draw a nine milly and a magazine from the armoury – you won’t need ammo, it’s only for show………….”

“Sir, I’m not pistol trained.”

“I f*ckin know that knob head, but the armourer will check that it’s clear and you don’t need to be trained simply to carry the f*ckin thing! Anyway, get yourself an early lunch and be at the Guardroom for 1300 hours to meet up with Sgt Jones - Rickshaws, Cabs and Taxis.”

“Right, Sir. What is it I’m doing, Sir?”

“You’re going on a jaunt down to Hereford, lad, to deliver something important to somebody who needs it and you’re going to sit and guard it and make sure that it gets there safely. You know who’s at Hereford, don’t you lad?”

“Er, no Sir.”

“The Regiment, knob head! Never mind, you’ll learn. Make sure you take some goojie bars and a book, it’s likely to be a long boring journey sat in the back of a four tonner, but it’ll get you out and be good experience for you. Don’t do anything to make a c*nt of yourself, or of us and get back as soon as you can. Questions?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good. Get cracking then!”

Regiment? What f*ckin Regiment? It was a really offbeat detail and I took some serious flak off some of the older blokes who clearly felt that they should have been given the job, but it was mine and feeling dead professional having finally sussed who the “Regiment” were, I duly met up with Sgt Jones.

He was all shiny and snooty and it quickly became apparent that whereas he and his co-driver Cpl Smith, had been hand picked for what was considered to be an important and prestigious duty, they were less than impressed with my lot for picking a scrawny, streak of piss like me to do a man’s job. He showed me to the rear of the truck ………and I could hardly believe my eyes. It was chokka with tentage.

“This is where you’ll be. You’ll have to make yourself some room” he said.

I looked at him all puzzled “Why am I guarding tents?” I enquired.

He looked at me like I was a piece of shit on a hot day. “It’s what’s in the safe, underneath the tents at the front that you’re going to be guarding” he growled irritably. “You stay there unless I tell you otherwise and you stay alert, understand? If you need a piss, too bad, we’re going to be cracking on there and back and only stopping every couple of hours to change over. You can piss then, if you need to.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Oh, and one more thing,“ he said, looking meaningfully at my pistol in its holster “keep that f*ckin thing out of sight. If I catch you playing John Wayne with it, you’ll be tapping the boards when we get back.”

F*ckin unbelievable! Not only was I not pistol trained, a matter which I could hardly confess to, but Sgt f*ckin Sociable would evidently have preferred me not to have brought the thing at all.

Anyway, I managed to make myself quite a comfy little niche amongst the tents in the back by the tailgate. It was Spring time too and the weather was great. There was no shortage of totty eager to give their warm weather finery an outing and thus, as we drove out of Edinburgh and hit the cross country route for the M6, I had plenty to look at. It did get boring after a while though and the only opportunity I got to stretch my legs was when they stopped at the services to swap over and Sgt J kindly condescended to let me go to the bogs.

Getting on towards evening, we left the motorway and stopping again to change driving duties, the Sarge informed me that rather than driving on, we would be pulling up somewhere quiet for a few hours kip. He then revealed that he wasn’t quite so squeaky clean as I had imagined he was when he told me that he knew someone down the road who ran a B&B. He said they would make us out some receipts so that we could claim NRSA, but that rather than actually stop there and do guard stags on the lorry, we’d just rough it in a lay by somewhere, with them kipping in the cab and me in the back. I was well warned not to tell anyone when we got back and just to enjoy having a few bevies out of the claim, but that was fine by me – I was only following orders.

He duly found the place he was looking for and shortly after we left, he stopped us again in a little lay by opposite a cottage on a very quiet rural road.

There was not a soul about. It was more like high Summer than Spring and just as it was beginning to grow dusk, they retired to the cab to get their heads down. Left to my own devices, I quickly lowered the tailgate and secured it in the horizontal position, then, I rolled out one of the 9x9 tents as a mattress, used my webbing as a pillow and threw my green maggot over the top of me. Cushtie! I was just dropping off when I caught a whiff of something really lovely and was shaken gently on the shoulder. I opened my eyes and found my self face to face with a vision of loveliness, who closely resembled the bar maid at the Ensign Ewart in Edinburgh. She had amazing brown eyes and long dark hair too, but this beauty’s accent was Welsh and so soft and sexy that it made my balls squirm. It didn’t matter a monkey’s f*ck that she was old enough to be my mother. She was absolutely gorgeous and all the more attractive for appearing so unexpectedly. I was immediately alert and on my best behaviour.

She asked me what I was doing, which I thought was a pretty stupid question, but it turned out that she lived in the cottage across the road and that she owned the lay by which her husband, a self employed HGV driver, used for parking his truck. She said it didn’t really matter if we parked there though, because he was away on the continent that night and we’d be gone by the time he returned. She asked me if I wanted a cup of tea, but it could as well have been arsenic because I was ready to do anything to prolong our conversation. Naturally, I said yes, but when she enquired about the two in the front, I was quick to quash that idea by informing her that they were worn out with driving and would much prefer to be left sleeping. She said “Yes. They look tired. The Sergeant is snoring his head off!” I thought “There is a God after all and he loves me very much!”

I had no qualms about leaving the truck to go over to her cottage for tea. The whole place was as dead and as quiet as a dodo, and anyway, anyone wishing to get to the safe would have a hell of a game shifting all of the tentage first. I did, however, make sure that I slipped my pistol down the back of my trouser waistband before I left. It was the one thing I didn’t dare risk losing.

“Ooh,” she said as I straightened my combat jacket, “It must be a terrible responsibility to have to carry a gun in the service of your country. I think you young men are s-o brave.” I nearly came in my pants!

Inside her cottage, it was cosy and homely - and obviously very lonely too. There was a stack of romantic novels and a knitting basket in her living room where she brought my tea and the TV remote sat on top of the Radio Times beside the armchair where she sat down. Christ, she wasn’t just good looking though, she had a great body for an old doll, too. Nice cuddly tits and arse. She was perfect. It seemed also, to me, that she was shyly chatting me up and in my naivety, I was really letting my imagination run away with me. I was a cherry boy. It was a source of endless amusement to my older mates and I hated it, but to lose my cherry to a woman like that – well, what would I care if they believed me or not?

What a f*ckin let down though, because when we’d finished our tea, she suddenly said “Well, I expect you must be tired too. You can sleep in the spare room if you’d like. I can give you an alarm clock so that you can let yourself out in the morning as early as you want.” I’d felt sure until then that I was getting somewhere with her, but I guess she was just so friendly because it wasn’t often that she had a visitor. Even so, once I’d swallowed my disappointment, the prospect of a real bed indoors compared to the tailgate outside, didn’t seem too bad. It would be one in the eye for those two stuck up tossers in the cab and if I let myself out just before it got light, they wouldn’t know a thing, so I thought “F*ck it. Why not?”

Better still, her spare room overlooked the lay by, so that was good. I’d just got undressed and climbed into bed wearing just my shreddies when she knocked on the door to bring me the alarm clock. She’d got undressed too and all she was wearing was a T shirt style nightie and a pair of sexy little open toed, open backed fluffy slippers. Except that I could see quite a lot of her legs and thighs, it was hardly deliberately provocative, but what she hadn’t realized was that as she stood in the doorway, the landing light was behind her and it silhouetted her body perfectly through the thin cotton of her nightie. My cock just ballooned in a heartbeat and all too quickly, I shot onto my side to conceal my erection. If I didn’t go red at that point, I certainly did when she gave a sudden smile of realization and came in to place the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet.

Grinning, she said “Are you comfortable enough?”

“Yes. Lovely. Thanks.” I spluttered.

She gave a little chuckle, “You don’t look it” she said teasingly.

F*ck. My face was burning and there was no chance Mr Wigley was going to cool off when she was stood so near by. She was doing it deliberately. She knew why I was embarrassed and she seemed quite pleased.

“What about if I climbed in beside you, would you be more comfortable then?”

I could hardly believe my ears – or my luck. I must have sounded like a desperate pup as I looked at her with undisguised longing and said “Oh, yes please!”

“Okay then,” she said “Move over and give me some room.”

I did……and I fell straight off the fu*ckin tailgate.

Cor, it didn’t half hurt. :twisted:
A fine tale, well told!

And here i was about to call you a lying twat.

Good effort shippers.

Similar threads

Latest Threads