As an old man, in my seventies, who has been given the nod by my doctors that my days are numbered, I spend a lot of time looking back at my life. Recalling what I have done and achieved. Regretting the things I should have done and did not do. I do not suppose for a moment this is unusual, but when it happens to you, it takes it out of you, initially at least.

Do not get me wrong, I have come to accept my imminent demise and am mostly at peace with it. I think the song, Angels, sums up my feelings best – “I’m not scared of dying, I just don’t want to.,” yet.

I never planned on these thoughts going public. It was just a few scrappy notes for my own consumption. The ramblings of an old man, as it were. But one of the individuals concerned saw those notes. They thought that others may identify with some of the situations and suggested I tidy them up into a story and post them on your forum. This series, if it goes that far, is the result. My true-life story, but memories fade at my age, so some liberties may have been taken with details.

If you are expecting beginning to end, dirty, perverted sex, it’s not for you. Bug out now…no hard feelings. And I don’t profess to be a literary genius; so, if my writing style and grammar offend you, you know where the ‘close’ button is!

Part 3 – Hands Off Cocks, on Socks!

“Hands off cocks, on socks.” I believe this phrase was popularised by Leslie Thomas in his 1960s book, later film, Virgin Soldiers. Since then though it has become the de facto reveille call, to wake up the occupants of barrack rooms the world over. After screwing up most of my O-Level examinations at school, mainly due to my quest to further my sexual experience, I found myself at ‘boot-camp’ at the beginning of my UK armed forces career. At age 17, despite for many purposes still considered a ‘minor’, I was classified by the military as an adult entrant. This meant I was thrown into the mix with other recruits, varying in age from teenagers, like me, to those in their mid thirties. Me though, I was literally a virgin soldier, not yet having engaged in sexual intercourse at that point.

Before anyone suggests otherwise, NO! Despite stories to the contrary, which I can neither confirm nor deny, I was never once abused, exploited, or coerced to do anything against my will, sexually or otherwise. And the age of sexual consent in the UK is 16- years, so any and all sexual contact described was entirely legal and consensual.

Military basic training, wherever it takes place is, to put it bluntly fucking hard! It’s intensive, and physically and mentally brutal, designed to weed out those without the ‘right stuff’ for soldiering. I have never considered myself to be a ‘hard nut’ or an action man in the slightest, but I quite enjoyed the discipline; and was gobsmacked when some of the ‘jocks’ threw in the towel within days or were canned from the course.

For the first few weeks, leisure time was non-existent. All our waking hours were consumed by drawing kit from stores, classroom lectures, drill, weapons drill, drill and just to make sure we had it right, more drill. Even when we staggered back to our barrack rooms at the end of the day, it was only to start again, cleaning, polishing, studying for tests, polishing, practicing drill moves, polishing!

Privacy was non-existent. 18–20-man rooms. Communal showers. Communal toilets. As we were confined to barracks still, sex was out of the question but was a prime topic of conversation. ‘Men’s Magazines’ were freely available for all to share. Masturbation did happen, at night, after lights out. We all knew it. Hell, we all did it. It was mostly kept on the QT, as we were new to this type of living. The British military is renowned for its black humour and outspokenness, so later it would not raise an eyebrow to announce, “Be back soon, I’m going for a wank!” This openness would shock many a civilian colleague over the years.

I was not aware of any homosexual activity in those early years. Unbelievably, gay relationships were a serious offence under ‘Queens Regulations’ right up until the year 2000. ‘Offenders’ could be imprisoned, dishonourably discharged or both. Many were. I suppose there was homophobia in the forces back then, but that, sadly, was the way of the world then too. In my experience though, the sense of teamwork and dependence on each other instilled in us a greater tolerance. Open gayness was not possible, but we all knew gay relationships and sex occurred. Those involved were colleagues and human beings, with free choice, so we shielded them from the authorities as much as possible. Inevitably a few dinosaurs and Neanderthals would cause trouble and ruin lives. Thank goodness the rules have now changed and those disadvantaged slowly compensated. Rant over!

Gradually, we were given more freedoms. Access to the NAAFI bar. Passes to visit the local towns, though wearing of uniform was mandatory, which often led to friction with the local lads. And a weekend pass to visit wives and girlfriends, which bought back fresh tales of sexual conquests, to fuel our masturbatory fantasies. Once we reached the mid point of basic, we were really let loose. We got access to the ‘Bang Buses.’

Back in the early 1970s, UK basic training camps were strictly single sex. But once we became ‘senior recruits’ we were allowed to mix with the female recruits from a women’s bootcamp. Many of whom would go on to train for one of the military nursing services.

Each Tuesday a bus full of ladies would come to a ‘dance’ in our NAAFI. Thursday we could go to the NAAFI at their base. Looking back, it amazes me that this was officially sanctioned. It was supposed to encourage ‘social interaction’ between male and female service personnel. The ‘girls’ though had been as sex deprived as the ‘boys,’ so the interaction would often be very, very social! The MPs were supposed to act as ‘chaperones’ to ensure decorum was upheld. But bless them, they were quite lax in carrying out this duty. Contrary to popular opinion, MPs did have married parents and were human beings themselves!

There was an unwritten contest among the men, with the winner being the chap who hooked up with the ugliest female; the ‘grot contest’ (sorry ladies) another dark humour facet of UK military tradition. No prize, just the kudos of ‘taking one for the team.’ For the women, it seemed the contest was to score the youngest, most inexperienced bloke. That label fit me perfectly!

,

The first couple of outings were dry runs for most of us, reconnoitering the ground as the true soldiers we were becoming. There were a couple of tales of quick handjobs and even one claim of a full-blown coupling. Who am I to doubt their word. I did, however, note a few nods and fingers pointing in my direction from a group of ‘elder’ ladies. Was I being sized up for the toy-boy contest.

At this point I should add that although us guys were still compelled to wear uniforms, the ladies were permitted their civilian glad-rags or even fancy dress. ‘Slutty nurses’ costumes were thus not uncommon, given the future careers of many of the girls.

The following week, at girl-camp, I was handed a drink on arrival by one such slutty nurse (it was the tradition that the hosts bought the first round). I recognised her as being part of the group sizing me up previously. Game on it seemed. After a bit of idle chatter, we drifted back to her table, where we joined her friends and a couple of my fellow recruits, who I assume were also tonight’s pray! I do not remember Nurse Slut’s name, assuming I ever knew it, so I am afraid the poor lady is stuck with that monicker for the rest of this story.

Nurse Slut was at least five or six years older than me, so around 22-23. She was pretty, but not a stunner. She stood five feet, to five six tall, medium build, her full breasts accentuated by the mock nurse’s uniform smock she was wearing. Her obviously long dark hair was tightly gathered under a ward cap, but with tendrils hanging down on either side of her face, in pseudo rebellion to the strict hospital dress code. The look was completed with the mid-thigh length skirt of the smock, black tights, and black heels.

We had a few drinks (I was actually still underage to consume alcohol, but we will let that slip), danced a bit, which I’m still rubbish at, and chatted, about nothing in particular. We all knew where things were heading, so when I excused myself to relieve my bladder, it was no surprise when I found Nursey waiting in the hallway for me, to ‘go outside and get some fresh air and cool off.’ We wandered away from the NAAFI building, past her accommodation block, which she told me was strictly out of bounds to men, until we eventually found a secluded spot, behind a building next to the base medical centre. It was cold outside, but at least the structure shielded us from the wind.

To say I was nervous would be a massive understatement. This was the first woman, not teenage girl, I’d been anywhere near. She knew the score. Was I a virgin? No point in lying, yes, I was! She took the initiative. She took my face in her hands and kissed me full on the lips; gently at first, then increasingly aggressively, forcing her tongue into my mouth.

Still kissing me hard, she took my hands and placed the palms on her breasts above her clothing. Her bra must have been quite padded because, although the soft, pliable mounds were in my grasp, I could not feel her nipples, no matter how much I searched for them. Grasping my buttocks, she pulled my lower body into hers, trapping my rigid penis against her stomach. She ground her body against me, increasing my hardness even further. After a few minutes, as I was still being too hesitant, she took control, pulled back and slowly undid the buttons at the front of her smock, down to the belt at her waist, then lifted her bra up and clear of her breasts. And what breasts! Even in the darkness, illuminated only by the security lights at each corner of the building, I could make out how magnificent they were, a real woman’s tits!

I have never been good at judging breast size. My wife now is a double-D, so doing a very retrospective comparison, I would guess Nurse Slut’s were a solid D at the time. Full, round, voluptuous. Not firm, but not saggy either, if that makes sense; exactly right. But the crowning glory of those breasts were the teats. They were huge. The size of a large man’s thumb, set in dark rose-coloured areolae at least two, if not three inches in diameter. I had never seen the like before and still have not again to this day. I did what was expected of me. I took the offered breasts in my hands bent my head to suck first one, then the other nipple into my mouth, feeling them harden like walnuts, and eliciting a low throaty groan from Slutty.

As I continued to masticate her paps, Nurse Slut fumbled open the fly buttons of my rough uniform trousers and tried to pull them down. This effort was thwarted by the mandatory braces I was wearing under my tunic, which held my trousers up and hanging ‘correctly.’ She had to settle for just extracting my cock from my pants, through my open fly. She started to rub her hand up and down my shaft. The sensation was, well, sensational.

I knew I would not last long, so I decided to go full out and make the most of a rare opportunity. I tentatively reached up under Slutty’s smock and cupped her mound. Feeling no resistance to my move, I groped around to get my hand inside her underwear to the valley beyond. It was my turn to be thwarted, by double knickers. She was wearing two pairs of pants, one over and one under the black tights she had on. It apparently stops the pantyhose gusset from drooping below the hemline of a short skirt or dress, who knew. Nurse Slut chuckled at my confusion and fumbling efforts to get my hands in and let go of my cock, just long enough to pull the triple barrier down to her knees and part her legs slightly to give me full access.

As she continued to pump my cock, I reached down to her vulva, finding a full, dark bush of pubic hair. Really thick and coarse, not like the sparse, soft teenage muffs I had encountered previously. I fumbled to navigate my way through the hair, eventually feeling my way into her moist labia. I massaged her vaginal opening and circled her clitoris with my finger, as Janet, my pre-enlistment girlfriend, had taught me. It did the trick, Slutty got wetter and wetter, and sighed and groaned gently with pleasure.

It was all too much for me though. I could feel myself on the verge of cumming. I did not want to ruin any hope there was of actually losing my cherry that night, so I told her to stop and let me calm down. To my horror, she said “no” and started stroking faster, she then added that we needed to get this first one out of the way, to enable me to last longer next time. Next time? So, if I blew my wad, that would not be it then.

Okay, go for it boy! With that I buried my face back in her tits, my fingers in her vagina, and just enjoyed the intense pleasure her handiwork was giving my cock and balls. She was good, incredibly good. Despite my worry of cuming so quickly, she kept me teetering on the brink for several minutes more, while I continued to probe her wet vagina, and lick and kiss her nipples and breasts.

Too soon though, I let go! I ejaculated long and hard, shooting my load against the wall behind Slutty. It was a powerful orgasm, and my knees nearly buckled beneath me. She continued to stroke me gently, until I stopped shuddering, and the last few drops of semen had exited my penis. I am sure she wiped her sticky hand on the back of my trousers. More cleaning to do before the Drill Sergeant saw it! Slutty told me that she’d bet that was the best handjob I had ever had. Mmmm…not so sure it was. Janet had developed a pretty fantastic technique and had often kept me on the boil for ages, before finishing me off, but I was not going to tell Slutty that.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you realise you have totally and completely fucked up? Such a moment was imminent. After taking a few moments to sort our clothing out; me to undo my braces and she to completely remove her underwear, we went back to gently stimulating each other. I nibbled and sucked on her breasts, and nipples, whilst softly caressing her, now soaking wet, labia, vagina, and clitoris. She in turn, rubbed my penis and fondled my testicles.

I was terrified that I would not be able to get another erection so soon after my orgasm. But her ministrations and the thought of imminent sex with this woman were enough to get me hard again quite quickly. Then it happened.

“Have you got something with you?” asked Nurse Slut. Her tone really meaning, of course you have something with you, put it on your dick now.

My blood ran icy cold. My cock has never gone from turgid rod to turtle’s head so fast, before, or since. How, oh how, could I be so fucking stupid. No, I did not ‘have something with me!’ What an utter moron I was.

Now in my own defence, not that it was in any way defendable, Durex was not exactly available on every supermarket shelf, or given away free at every base medical centre, like it is these days. Certainly not a NAAFI bar stock item either! But in truth, it had never occurred to me to find a source for tonight anyway. Oh, the folly of youth.

Nurse Slut let out an exasperated groan and banged her forehead against my shoulder several times before halting with her head bowed against my collarbone. I almost wept as I mumbled a grovelling apology. She stayed silent.

Nothing was said for a full three or four minutes, maybe longer. During this time, I struggled desperately to hold back my tears. I just could not even imagine the full consequences of actually crying on her after screwing up so catastrophically. The humiliation she would rain down on me would no doubt be brutal and become a boot camp legend, that would follow me around for the rest of my life.

But I managed to hold the flood back, just. After what seemed like a lifetime, Nurse Slut slowly raised her head, gave a sardonic grin, and kissed me gently on the forehead. A decision had obviously been reached. Yes, I’d royally fucked up, but she had put it down to experience. The penalty she must pay for expecting a ‘mere boy’ to act like a man and show some responsibility, but she was not going to be a total loser as a result, that was for sure. Slutty leaned back against the wall, spread her legs slightly and pushed her hips forward. She turned me to face her, placed her hands on my shoulders and firmly pressed down.

I knew exactly what she wanted, I had wanked furiously reading about it in the past, but I had never gone down on a girl, let alone a woman, and had no clue how to do it properly. I had to try and redeem myself somehow though, so I sank to my knees between her legs and came face to face with her hairy vulva. Trying to recall the accounts of how to give oral pleasure to a woman, in the letters and stories I had read in those copies of Mayfair and Fiesta. I inched my face into Slutty’s crotch, experiencing first hand the aroma of hot woman for the first time. I often see it described as intoxicating. They are not wrong.

Using my fingers, I parted her soggy pubes, to expose her outer lips. They were pink and inflamed. Fighting back my last, but unexplainable, resistance to placing my mouth on a fanny, I stuck out my tongue and licked the length of her vaginal cleft, bottom to top. Then again, and again. Nurse Slut shuddered a little and rested her hands on the top of my head.

Emboldened by the fact that I had not dropped dead from ‘pussy poisoning,’ I continued working my tongue up and down her zippered cleft. This time adding more pressure, allowing my tongue to part her outer lips, releasing her wetness to my taste. Yes, intoxicating. I found it difficult, and to be honest a little unpleasant, navigating my way through her dense bush. I applaud the increase in popularity of the trimmer and the razor over the years; and yes, I reciprocate!

Sensing my fumbling, Slutty took control of the situation once again. She guided my mouth to the right places, whispered instructions for me to tongue her vaginal opening, suck on her inner labia, and lick and suck her clitoris. I won’t claim I was an immediate expert clit licker, but slowly she started to grind her mound into my face and pant and groan a little. She told me to add my fingers to stimulate her vagina, whilst my mouth attacked her clitoris. I licked and sucked and fingered for all I was worth. It was tiring work for the inexperienced, but there was no way I was giving in and failing her again, so I stuck at it.

I am sure someone experienced at cunnilingus would have bought her to orgasm quicker and multiple times. I however was overjoyed when Nurse Slut finally stiffened and groaned. Her vagina clamped down on my fingers several times and she released a small gush of fluid onto my face. Now I’m not saying the Earth moved for her, but she did orgasm, enough to forgive me for my stupidity at least. Actually, thinking back, it was probably for the best I ended up just going down on her. The chances of me getting her anywhere near a climax, with my penis, during my first time was remote. It certainly was not the case when it finally did happen.

I was still hoping for more. The experience of my oral efforts had left me with another raging hard on. After allowing what I thought to be a reasonable recovery time, I tried to keep things going, by once again fondling and kissing her tits, but was soon rebuffed. With nothing to lose, I asked her if she would suck me. A snort of derision gave me my answer, but she tried to temper the refusal by claiming she was getting too cold to stay out there any longer at the moment, let’s go back to the bar to warm up and have another drink first. Hmmm…sounded like a brush off to me, but at least she was sticking with me, wasn’t she?

Nope. We adjusted our dress and started out back towards the NAAFI bar, but as we neared her accommodation, she suddenly remembered she still had some preparation to do for tomorrow’s inspection, surprise, surprise. She kissed me on the lips, but there was no passion or little interest in the kiss. She said she would be on the bus to our base the following week and would see me there, and with that disappeared into her block. I held out little hope of seeing her there next week, at our base, and was not disappointed.

I, probably fortunately, never met Nurse Slut again. A minor injury during a training exercise saw me laid up in the sick bay for several weeks, followed by being back coursed for missing too much training. By the time I got bang-bus privileges again, she had passed out from basic and moved onto her medical training. And to be honest, I felt I had dodged a bullet. I did not know if Nurse Slut had shared my, um, performance, or lack thereof, with her mates. If so, it mercifully had not got back to the man-camp. So, with only a few weeks left to my own pass out, I decided not to push my luck and avoided anymore ladies’ nights. But I never, ever went out without “something with me” again. No matter how remote the possibility of needing it was.

I will never know if Nurse Slut claimed victory in the toy-boy contest for that night. After all, she did not actually fuck me, so did it count? But I would have given it to her, the win I mean; I had blown my chances of giving her anything else. She deserved it after putting up with me.

I graduated boot camp, weeks later than expected, my proud parents attending my passing out parade on a cold and snowy Autumn Day. I was still just 17, and yes still a fucking virgin as I moved on to my engineering apprenticeship.

Oh, and did I mention? That wall that I shot my load all over and orally semi-satisfied Nurse Slut against; That wall belonged to the base mortuary, alleged to be horrendously haunted. It certainly haunted me that night and for months to come. But the ghosts would soon be allowed to cross over in the coming weeks, as it finally happened for me!

Part 4 – Not so lonely this Christmas

---