As the sands of time are rapidly running out for me, I find myself reminiscing my past. Whilst my earthly life has but a brief period to run, my sex life effectively died some years ago. All I have is memories, so it is not surprising sex plays a dominant role in my thoughts.
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 is not for you. Bug out now…no hard feelings. And I do not profess to be a literary genius; so, if my writing style and grammar offend you, you know where the close button is!
Part 5 – Back to Base
Quite a slow start to this part, but I believe it is necessary to give some context later in the story.
The Christmas, and New Year holidays over, it was back to base to resume my electronic engineering training. It soon became clear they had gone easy on us in those few weeks between finishing boot camp and the Christmas leave. Things got much harder, very quickly. Electrical and electronics theory, mathematics, workshop skills, circuit drawings. All started basic but soon became much more advanced. Add into the mix compulsory PT and sports, along with drill (no, that was not over) and other soldiering skills, it made for very full, tiring days. There was plenty of homework to do in the evenings, which kept us quite busy during the week, but our weekends were normally our own.
There were about thirty of us in the intake, all in our late teens or early twenties. We were accommodated on the ground floor of a barrack block, where I had a bed space in a four-man room. There were a couple of coveted single man rooms on the floor, which were given to the appointed senior and deputy senior course trainees, who acted as our go between with the chain of command and training staff. I was still several months short of my eighteenth birthday and the youngest member of my course. Our senior, Garth, had been told to keep a special eye on me; to make sure I was not ‘led astray;’ as if! Talk about putting the wolf in charge of the lambs. Garth, who was a good-looking northerner in his twenties was, to say the least, a bit of a lad! Despite the differences in our ages and worldly experience we got on very well. More on that later.
Earlier readers will recall I had flunked my high school exams badly, and only just qualified to attend this course of training. Well, it turned out that my exam results were not a true indicator of my competence. It soon became clear that I had a bit of a flair for the technical subjects. My weakness however was my maths. I had always been poor at this subject and as the difficulty level started to increase, I really started to struggle, though I was not totally alone in this respect.
Our maths teacher was a young, single, female officer. Her actual name escapes me now but would simply been addressed as ‘Maam’ anyway. Herself only in her mid twenties, she was not much older than some of us and had only recently graduated from university and then officer training herself. This was her first duty posting.
Maam was about 5’ 6” tall, with chestnut brown hair, which was always worn, gathered back into the regulation tight bun. Uniform, even the more tailored officers dress, was never very flattering, so it was difficult to judge her figure fully, though it was obvious she had quite large breasts under her tunic. Whilst keeping the required ‘officer like’ separation, she was friendly and approachable, which endeared her to all of us. Relationships, of any kind, between officers and other ranks were forbidden, although we all fantasised about being with Maam, that was as far as it went; for most.
Anyway, a small group of four of us, Garth and I included, were struggling with our maths. Rather than distract the wider group, Maam offered to run a couple of remedial evening classes for us, which we jumped at. She said they would be informal sessions, so civilian dress could be worn and refreshments were allowed.
We four gathered in the designated classroom at the appointed time. A few moments later Maam arrived. All our jaws hit the desks in front of us. Gone was the dehumanising female officer uniform. Instead, she was dressed in tight, blue Levi 501s and a thin white button up blouse, through which a plain white bra was clearly visible. A thin, navy blue, woollen cardigan was draped over her shoulders but not fastened. Several of her top blouse buttons were undone, emphasising the thrust of her breasts. Her hair, normally tied back, was loose and cascaded over her shoulders, framing a hint of makeup and lipstick on her pretty face.
We got straight to work, reviewing the aspects of the subject that were causing us problems: multiplying fractions, trigonometry, quadratic equations, etc. The agenda set; we were off. Maam shed her cardigan and started working through some problems on the blackboard (yes, we still had them then!). There was far more attention on her luscious arse, than the equations on the board, and the promise of her bra covered tits, profiled to us as she turned to explain the intricacies of Sine, Cosine and Tangential functions.
When she was satisfied her explanations were taking effect, she passed out a worksheet for us to go through. After giving us a few minutes to start, she started coming to us individually to check our progress. Leaning over to check our work, giving fantastic views down her ample cleavage. Brushing a breast against an arm or shoulder as she lent over us to correct our working. Squatting to come to our level to further explain procedures; in doing so, stretching the jeans tight on her buttocks and revealing a hint of cameltoe. At first it appeared these were unconscious acts, but it soon became apparent it was probably deliberate. It seemed the Queens Commission did not stop one being a cock tease! And of course we played the game too, demanding more and more attention from her. She loved it.
The extra curricular activities continued for several weeks, until our final maths tests came due. Although Maam continued to tease us all, it was evident her main focus was directed towards Garth. She would spend more time at his desk than the rest of us. There would be whispered conversations, beyond the maths tuition, and a bit of sniggering and casual touching; a hand on the arm whilst explaining the finer points of an algebraic term or a pat on the shoulder for a mathematical problem solved. It was obvious to all that there was some deeper connection between them, despite the rules on fraternisation.
It had to be me, didn’t it! Proof of their illicit affair came in a bizarre way late one night. After a few beers in the NAAFI bar earlier in the evening, I had to get up and relieve myself at about 1am. Still half asleep, I headed for the bogs in the dark, when I was startled by a shadowy figure trying to open the fire door at the end of the corridor near, the single man rooms. Due to the prevailing threat at that time, from dissident Irish Republican terrorists, we had it drilled into us to be suspicious of unusual activity. This fell into that category. I found the switches and turned on the corridor lights.
There, just outside his open doorway stood a naked Garth, and making her escape by the fire door, was, of course, Maam. We all froze, looking from one to another. What the fuck happened now! After what seemed like hours, but was only a few moments, I recovered the use of my legs, turned, and entered the toilets.
I finished my piss, washed up, then just stood there, leaning back on the edge of a sink, trying to digest what was happening. As said, officer/other rank relationships were a no no anyway; but for a female officer to be caught having sex in male, junior rank accommodation was simply beyond all comprehension! My head was spinning!
After 5-10 minutes, Garth, dressed now, entered the toilet block, and leaned back on the sink next to me. He explained that Maam and he had been seeing each other on the sly for a couple of weeks now. As she, being single too, lived in the officers' mess, they had nowhere to go for casual ‘hook ups’ and were desperate for sex together; I could not blame him for that. They decided to throw caution to the wind and his room was the lesser of the available evils. They almost got away with it, but I had caught them just as she was leaving. Garth first begged, then threaten all sorts of shit and corruption on me, to keep what I had seen to myself.
Threats were unnecessary. There was no way I was going to grass them up. Garth would have been in the shit, for sure. Probably done a few weeks in the cells, possibly thrown off the course. But it would have been career ending for Maam for certain. I assured Garth nobody would hear about any of this from me. Why would I? It was just two consenting adults wanting to fuck, and nowhere to do it privately. Been there, done that, just about. Garth’s relief was instant and huge. He could not thank me enough and promised to “see me right” in return.
We were all dreading the next maths lesson. Maam and Garth were playing it very cool, and at first, she avoided eye contact with both of us. She set us a practice final test to work through, then busied herself, head down, with some paperwork on her desk. I was very distracted from my test though. I could not help stealing furtive stares at her, imagining her, naked and spread eagled on Garth’s narrow, single bed. The thought of it gave me a raging hard on, which I had to try and conceal from her, though why escapes me now.
Finally, Maam caught my eye, and we looked quizzically at each other. She tilted her head slightly and narrowed her eyes questioningly, meaning, “are you going to report us?” I gently shook my head in reply, No! She smiled, glanced around to see she was not being watched and silently mouthed a thank you! I would love to say she was so grateful she fucked me too. Never going to happen. My reward, as it were, would come from Garth shortly. I guess Maam had learned her lesson and her time with Garth was over. Or at least, he had moved on to his next conquest, though with him, that meant nothing really. And our maths classes ended shortly thereafter, so we did not see her much after that anyway. I did strangely get a good passing grade in that final maths test. Justified maybe, though my maths is still not that great.
Life settled into a routine, with our instruction getting steadily more advanced, but for me, much more enjoyable. I was really getting into the technical details and looking forward to putting the theory in to practice. Most of our weekends were our own, and we would hit the local town, for the pubs and nightclubs (I had at last turned eighteen in the February, so the sky was now the limit…well, the pay packet was the limit actually. But the midweek highlight was the ‘NAAFI Bop.’ A Thursday night disco in the junior ranks club.
With the resident base population being predominantly male, these functions would attract large numbers of ‘young ladies’ from the local town. It would also attract quite a few, shall we say ‘more mature’ females, if they could find a sponsor to sign them in through the guardroom. This gave the dance its derogatory name “Grab a Grannie Night.” After my recent experience at boot camp though, I was steering well clear of the older women, for now at least!
I was, however, keen to pull from among the younger visitors. I had received a Dear John letter from my hometown girlfriend, Gillian, so I was a free agent again. I had progressed greatly and was now more confident at the chat-up patter. I would “…fancy this, I would fancy that, I wanna be so flash. I would give a little muscle, and I spend a little cash.” But as the lyric continues, “all I got is bitter…” (actually, I was a brown and mild man). Oh, I got a few snogs and gropes, even one fumbled hand job in a deserted snooker room. But I just did not seem to be able to get repeat meetings out of it.
After one abortive Thursday night outing, I was brewing a cup of tea in the block common room, before turning in, no doubt to relieve my frustrations with Mrs Palm, if I could get away with it. I was about to leave when Garth entered the room. Greeting me, he flopped into a chair, looked me quizzically in the eye and said, “Not having a lot of luck are you mate? What’s going wrong?” I sat and told him my sorry tales. He thought it through a bit, then suggested he had a friend of a friend he could set me up with, which probably meant one of his cast offs. But that had to be a good thing, right? Hardly likely to be a simpering virgin. I agreed to give it a go, but to be honest, Garth was a bit pissed, so I was not entirely sure this would happen, but I went to bed that night, with a little bit of hope of good things to come.
Despite my misgivings, the following Wednesday, Garth sought me out and said that he had indeed set me up on a ‘blind date’ with one of his current squeeze Joyce’s, friends. Her name was Sandra, though she went by Sandie. They worked together as machinists at a local garment factory. And no, he had not been out with her himself. Joyce would bring Sandie to the dance the following evening, they would introduce me and stick around with us for most of the night. But, Garth emphasised, when the time came for him to get lucky, I was on my own.
At the appointed time, dressed up in our disco uniform (Oxford Bag trousers, penny collar shirts, Crombie jackets and Doc Martin oxblood shoes were the in thing at that time; yeah, I know!) we assembled at the guardhouse, to sign them in as visitors. Sandie was, to be honest, at first sight a pretty plain looking girl. She was younger than Garth and Joyce, and at nineteen, much closer to my age. She was quite short, at about 5’ 4” and ‘well covered’, but not excessively so. With coat off, when we reached the NAAFI, her plumpish body was dressed typically for the era. Colourful, widely flared trousers, baggy sleeved floral print blouse under a knitted waistcoat. Platform soled boots completed the look. Her short, naturally curly hair was a vivid ginger red colour, which I at first thought was dyed, though I found out later that was perfectly natural too!
We found a table in a corner of the function room and Garth and I went to the bar to buy drinks. “Well?” he asked. I answered that in truth, she was not the sort of girl I would be going for, she is a bit of a plain Jane. “Maybe that’s part of your problem mate, setting your sights too high.” That struck a chord. I was not exactly an Adonis myself. Maybe I was not the sort of guy that girls would be going for. Maybe I should see where things go with Sandie. Back at the table, we soon got chatting amongst ourselves. Sandie was very pleasant to talk with. Joyce and she had us all laughing at some of the antics they and their colleagues got up to at work, teasing and even groping the few male workers that kept the machine shop running, that would bring harassment charges these days, without a doubt. I found Sandie easy to talk to and felt more relaxed and open with her than I had with a girl for a while.
When Garth and Joyce got up to dance, Sandie looked expectantly at me. I have always been crap on the dance floor, and especially hated those 70s disco days, but I knew I had little choice. We joined the melee on the dance floor, she enjoying moving to the music, me prancing around like a demented sloth. Fortunately, after 10-15 minutes of fast dance, the DJ slowed the tempo down for us to take a breather. I think it was Phil Everly, or maybe The Hollies, The Air That I breathe. Sandie seemed to melt instinctively into my arms for the slow dance. We were both quite hot and sweaty from the bopping, but she smelt good. She linked her fingers behind my neck and pulled me closer, bringing her body against me, crushing her breasts against my chest. They felt good and I swear I felt her nipples hardening as they rubbed against me. As we moved to the music, one of her legs would often slip between mine unconsciously, or maybe consciously, I was not sure, allowing her slightly chubby mound to rub against my thigh. Again, it felt good to me, and I started to get semi-hard.
We danced on for a few more slow songs, before the DJ decided we were rested enough, and switched back to faster tunes, so Sandie and I headed back to our table. Garth and Joyce were already there, deep in conversation, and I could sense a bit of tension between them. It transpired later that Garth had been trying to get Joyce to leave the dance so he could get into her knickers, but she was adamant that she was not going to abandon her friend that first night in the ‘lions' den’ of our base.
The evening continued in much the same vain, with occasional rounds of drinking, chatting, and dancing. During the final smooch songs, before the lights went on, Sandie and I danced closer and closer. I reached down and placed my hands on her bum cheeks, pulling her lower body against mine. She must have felt my hard cock pressing against her. She did not react, but did not move away either. As the final song ended, still embracing, Sandie looked up at me, her eyes closed. I leant down and, rather chastely I guess, place a kiss on her lips. Finding she did not recoil in horror I repeated the action, a bit more forcefully this time. Sandie responded by slightly parting her lips, allowing our tongues to gently explore each others mouths a little, until the lights came on, ending the evening.
The girls headed for the ladies' room, to retrieve their coats, whilst Garth and I gathered our own belongings and prepared to leave the NAAFI. Garth was quite pissed at me as I had “ruined his chances of getting laid that night.” I countered that it was Joyce’s decision to stay with Sandie, not mine; and that anyway, it did not look like I was getting any that night either, though in fairness, I was used to that, he was not. This seemed to placate him a bit.
We joined the queue for a taxi to take the girls home. It was long but usually moved quite quickly as the local cabbies knew there would be fares to be had there at this time each week, so gathered there like flies on shit. Couples naturally gave each other a bit of space for privacy, so I found myself alone with Sandie. I did not have much time, so I gritted my teeth and went for it. I would like to see her again, was she interested? A few tense moments while she considered her options, then a “yes, that would be nice.” Joyce and she were doing overtime to earn extra money for a holiday that Saturday, but if I were free, she would be okay with Sunday afternoon.
We made arrangements to meet in town around midday, with the plan being to grab the train to a nearby seaside resort, where we would just go with the flow and see what happened. By then, it was their turn for the next taxi, and with a quick goodbye peck on the lips, they were off. Garth and I headed back to our block. He was still quite sullen, his only option now, he said was to go back to his room for a wank. I had much the same idea, but it depended if my roommates were in or not, otherwise it was another extended trip to the showers!
The following morning, around 11am, I rode my Bantam into town and chained it up in the station car park. I was well early, so had a quick mooch around the shops, mostly closed on a Sunday in those days, returning to the station around 11:50, to await Sandie’s arrival. A tense ten minutes. Would she show? Almost exactly at the agreed time, I saw her walking up the station approach. She was dressed in embroidered flared jeans, a plain white blouse and knitted woollen sweater vest, all topped of with the obligatory Afghan coat and a small leather shoulder bag, draped over her neck. She looked much slimmer and shapelier than I recalled from my first impression; me being less hypercritical for sure. She leaned in for a quick peck on the lips, which was a good sign. We headed for the ticket office, I paid our fares, and we went straight to the designated platform to await our train, which was due in about 15-minutes.
When the train arrived, it was a local chugger. A compartment train, with no corridor. Once in a compartment, that was it, until the next stop at least. It would take just over an hour to reach our destination. The train was not busy, so there were plenty of empty compartments. We grabbed one towards the back of the train, by unspoken consent, sitting opposite each other on the bench seats, our knees just about touching. The compartment was designed to seat eight passengers, but I hoped we would not have company. My silent prayer was answered, we were still alone as the train lurched into motion.
The privacy meant we could chat quite openly, so we gave each other a brief life history of ourselves. Sandie had been born, raised, and schooled in the town near my training base, a true local girl. Unlike me, she had obtained good results at O’level and had gone on to sixth form to do A’levels, aiming for university. But by the end of the lower sixth, much to her parents' dismay, she had decided it was not for her and left. She had started working at the machine shop, where she met Joyce, almost straight away. She considered that temporary but had still not made up her mind exactly what she wanted to do. She was considering returning to full time education at the local college, but options were still quite limited for females then; true sadly. She still lived with her parents at that moment (damn!), though they acknowledged her as an adult and gave her free rein to come and go as she pleased (oh, okay). She was hoping to get a place of her own, or at least a flat share soon, but that depended on money and her other life choices. She had had a few casual boyfriends, though nothing long term or serious.
I reciprocated with a précis of my own life, like her leaving out any reference to sex. I did however give strong hints that I was not very experienced in matters of an intimate nature; I had learned the hard way that it was best to be upfront about this, as lies were soon found out. She noticed the hints and responded with a subtle “Me neither.”
On arrival, we headed straight for the seafront. We spent the day doing nothing in particular, just acting like a couple of teenagers, which of course we were still, just. The season did not really start until Easter, a few weeks away yet, but some attractions were open. We browsed the beach kiosks, laughing at the smutty postcards in the racks. We went down the pier and played the slots and rode the dodgem cars, trying to ram each other, until we got a bollocking from the attendant and thrown off. We sat, arm in arm on a bench at the end of the pier watching the fishermen. Aping the themes of the postcards from earlier, we started to make childish remarks about the length of their rods and their ‘little tiddlers’, really referring to the small fish they were landing. Childish yes, but it made us laugh and cut into the sexual tension that was starting to develop between us.
When early evening came, I offered to take Sandie to a restaurant or café for a meal, but she said she would prefer to just get fish and chips and eat them on the beach. I am all for a cheap date, so that is what we did. The takeout finished, we binned our rubbish and started to walk along the beach on the hard sand at the tide line. It was late in March and the clocks had not gone forward to BST yet, so it was starting to get dark, but for the time of year it was fairly mild.
We must have walked a mile or so from the main promenade to the sand dunes further up the beach. We found a grassy bank to sit on, it was a little damp, so I took off and laid down my coat for us. Sandie said she was having a nice time and leaned across to kiss me gently. This soon turned into a full-on embrace and the kisses became much more passionate, our tongues exploring each other’s mouths.
Sandie stood up, straddled my legs, and sat down on my lap facing me. We resumed our kissing and started to stroke each other’s bodies through our clothing. I grasped her buttocks and pulled her closer to me, her mound nestling against my stiffening penis; she moaned softly into my mouth, which I took as a cue to continue, which I did.
I manoeuvred my hands beneath her layers of clothing, running them up and down the bare flesh of her back. It was warm and smooth, and her muscles rippled involuntarily at my touch. I caressed her sides and started to move my hands forward to her front. Whilst maintaining lower body contact, Sandie leaned backwards slightly to give me better access. I ran my hands up, over her slightly podgy belly, then up under and onto the sides of her bra covered breasts, before cupping them fully in my two hands. I felt her nipples hardening through the fabric.
She mewed encouragement, so I gently pushed her bra up, releasing her full, plump tits and ran my hands over them. They felt wonderful, as I circled my palms on her nips, before taking them between my thumbs and forefingers, gently pinching and pulling, lifting her breasts with them.
Sandie was now wriggling in my lap, her denim covered mound rubbing my rigid cock through my own trousers. She started to move her hips backward and forward, using me to stimulate herself. I was not complaining, the sensation was wonderful for me too. As her rocking motion increased, she demanded me to “Bite my tits. Bite my nipples!” wow, and she claimed inexperience.
Releasing my grasp on her breasts, I used my hands to work her top up, baring her tits to my mouth. It was quite dark by now, but my first sighting of her boobs was not disappointing. They were large, rounded and capped with dark, puckered nipples. As instructed, I took them back in my hands and in turn, sucked in, and lightly chewed and nibbled those nipples, drawing them out with my teeth.
Sandie’s rubbing was reaching fever pitch now, as she humped against my throbbing cock. I could feel my seed rising and was terrified that I was going to cum in my pants and make a fool of myself again. But before I did, to my astonishment, Sandie reached her climax. She threw back her head and shoulders and omitted a low, strangled scream, as her thighs jerked rhythmically against me several times. Her tits had been pulled from my mouth, but I continued to massage them with my hands, as her orgasm rippled through her. When the pleasure subsided, she slumped forward against me again, panting slightly and trapping my hands with their palms on her boobs.
In my, admittedly limited, experience I had no idea a girl could cum that quickly. All my research said it took time to get her there, and then it was not guaranteed to work a lot of the time. That was certainly what I had found in practice with the few females I had been with. After she had recovered for a few moments, Sandie sensed my confusion. Hugging me close, she told me that she had always been blessed with being very orgasmic and thanked me for the one she had just had. She found it amazingly easy to cum when masturbating, or during manual, oral or penetrative sex with a partner, especially if her breasts were being worked on at the same time; this could prove interesting, and she was no virgin either! Had I hit the jackpot?
All too soon, Sandie holstered her tits and tucked in her clothing. I assumed that was it for now, but no. Once she had made herself comfortable, she got off my lap and sat beside me on the coat. Grinning broadly, she reached down and started to massage my cock through my trousers. It had been rampant during her dry humping but had deflated slightly now. It quickly responded to her touch though and when she was satisfied it was fully erect again, she unbuttoned and unzipped me and worked my clothing down, just enough to leave my cock and balls free.
Smiling at me, she admitted she liked uncut penises best, more to play with. She started to work my foreskin up and down, spreading my leaking fluids over my engorged glans. Adding a twist to her hand motion, she pumped me more. The tip of her tongue peeked seductively from the corner of her mouth, giving the impression of intense concentration on what she was doing. I alternated between watching the arousing expression on her face, and the even more arousing sight of her hand working faster and faster on my cock.
I tried to hold back as long as possible (Reciting Boyle’s Law, Faraday’s Law, Lenz’s Law in my head, anything to try and delay my climax.) But five or six minutes of this was all I could stand. I warned Sandie I was about to cum. She increased her pace faster still, then at the last second, pulled my foreskin right back and pointed my dick away from her to my other side. She cooed softly with pleasure, as she watched me shoot several bursts of spunk onto the sandy bank beside me. “I love to watch a man cum” she said “…and I like them to cum on me too!” she finished; fact stored for future reference. Inexperienced? My arse!
With both of us sated, for the moment, we sorted our dress out and headed back towards the town centre. As soon as we cleared the dunes, we joined the promenade and oohed and ahhed at the seafront illuminations. We entered a pub, to use the facilities to clean ourselves up, but stayed for a couple of drinks before heading out to catch the last train back to our town.
I expected the train to be busy, with people heading home after the weekend, but we lucked in again, getting a compartment to ourselves, this time sitting closely together on one of the bench seats. As soon as the train pulled out of the station, we were at it again.Tongues duelling and hands all over each other.
With my coat draped over our laps, ostensibly to keep us warm, Sandie soon had my penis out again, leisurely stroking it. After giving her breasts a bit more attention, I joined her under the coat, undoing her jeans. She wriggled them down just enough to give me access to her panty clad mons. Working my fingers under the waistband of her knickers, I encountered a really dense pubic bush. I am not a lover of hairy fannies, but this one I had to see. I lifted the coat and pulled down her pants as much as possible and there it was a vivid red ‘ginger minge.’ I must have unconsciously said that out aloud because Sandie giggled and said “Yep, matching collar and cuffs. A natural born Ginger.” She was proud of her hair colour, top and tail. I kissed her quickly and said, “It’s fantastic.” A little white lie, but with the best of intentions, so no foul.
Dropping the coat back down, I fumbled my hand through the thatch, found her fanny lips and started to run my middle finger up and down her cleft. Sandie eased her knickers down a little further and parted her thighs more, allowing my finger to slip through into her interior. She was soaking wet with anticipation, as I set straight to finding and massaging her clitoral hood. My other hand groped under her top and bra and started pinching and pulling her nipples.
After a minute or two, I adjusted my lower grip, inserting a couple of fingers into her sopping vaginal opening and diddling her clitoris with my thumb. In combination, this had the desired effect. Sandie started to thrash her head from side to side and covered my hand on her tits with hers, begging for harder pinching and pulling of her nipples. I was scared that I was going to hurt her, but she relished the pain and came to another vocal orgasm, drenching my hand and her own pants with her fluids. During her spasms, she squeezed my cock unbelievably hard. I was scared she was going to really hurt me. I did not relish the pain, pain sucks.
She came down from her high and snuggled close to me, once again thanking me for giving her pleasure. I was still finding it hard to comprehend that it was me satisfying her like that, though I had to remind myself that it was really her own body’s gift reacting to being touched, rather than my prowess as a lover that was doing it for her. I wanted to keep making her cum though, and sought out her clitoris through her folds, but she pushed my hand away. “Stop. Too sensitive right now to continue.”
We sat in companionable silence for some time. We had had a few tense moments as we stopped at the intermediate stations, until we pulled away again, still alone in our compartment. We were covered up with the coat, but it would have been hard to have dressed to cover our exposed genitalia if someone had got in, and the compartment reeked of sex.
At the last stop, some 20 minutes before ours, a woman started toward us. I looked at her daggers as she reached her hand towards the door handle. It worked and she backed away and headed further up towards the front of the train.
With 20-minutes of guaranteed privacy ahead of us, I threw off the coat and made ready to go down on Sandie. But she was having none of it. I had just done her recently, so she said it was now my turn. She pulled my trousers and pants down off one leg and knelt on the floor between my knees. Oh…my…God! Was she going to suck me…give me my first blow job? Hell, yes, she was!
Time seemed to slow down for me as Sandie teased my, by now, shrunken penis back to life. With the excitement of what was about to happen, it did not take much teasing. I breathed deep and hard, trying to calm myself down, so as not to blow my wad the second she took me in her mouth. In slow time, she fully retracted my foreskin, leaving my engorged glans free for her to do with whatever she wanted. Sandie bowed her head towards my crotch, her eyes glaring up at me, a broad grin on her face again. Her long, pink, wet tongue extended and slowly licked the underside of my cock, taking in the sensitive frenulum that joined my foreskin to the glans. It felt like an electric shock ran through my cock. I orgasmed at once.
Huh? Except I did not, did I? Looking into it years later, I had probably experienced a ‘dry orgasm.’ All the sensations of cumming, but with no ejaculation. Go figure. Anyway. I was still hard as nails. Sandie’s tongue was still flicking around my bell end, oblivious to my turmoil. All was good.
Firmly grasping the base of my penis, Sandie started to lick and kiss the length of my shaft, frequently coming back to the sensitive tip, circling her tongue around the ring of my glans. Then slowly and seductively, looking up at me all the time, she bought her closed lips to the very top, over my urethra, which by now was leaking copious amounts of my pre-cum. Without pause, she proceeded to gradually open her lips, at the same time lowering her head; so that first the tip, then the whole of my bulging helmet was in her hot, wet mouth. I shuddered and groaned at the sensation.
Lower and lower she went, until her lips met her clenched hand on the bottom half of my cock. She later told me she had never tried deep throat oral, but that was the least of my worries then. At least half my length was planted between her lips, with the roof of her mouth and her tongue massaging me. Slowly she started to bob her head up and down, sucking her cheeks in on each up stroke, creating a vacuum, that felt like it was sucking my very soul out through my cock.
Despite my earlier actual, and later phantom, orgasms, I knew I was not going to last beyond a few minutes. I warned Sandie I would not take long. With her mouth still full of my penis, she nodded acknowledgement, and set about finishing the job, bobbing, and sucking harder, also adding hand stroking at the base, in tempo with her mouth. I held back, and held back, making the act last as long as possible, but as every man knows, there are limits to how much one can take in that situation. At the last moment I croaked “Now Sandie, now!” She quickly removed her mouth, aimed my cock away from her face (normally she said she would not do that, but we were effectively in public she told me later), but carried on jerking me frantically with her hand.
With an almost animalistic cry from me, my semen burst from my cock with, despite my earlier cum, a force I had never experienced before. It shot clear across the compartment, landing on the bench seat opposite us and onto the floor between the seats (my sincere apologies to whomever at British Rail had to deal with that one later, as I am sure we never got round to clearing it up ourselves.)
I had been on the verge of blacking out as I ejaculated and it took me a few minutes to recover my senses, by which time we were only a few more minutes away from our destination station. I hurriedly untangled my trousers and pants and pulled them back on. Sandie gave me a final flash of her ginger minge, as a parting gift, before she too adjusted her dress for our disembarkation.
Once we arrived, I walked Sandie home, to her parent’s house, which was only a five-minute walk from the station, before collecting my Bantam to ride back to base. No need to find a place for a wank that night, my cock was fully satisfied, for now.
The girls, Joyce and Sandie that is, came to ‘grab a grannie’ the following Thursday. It was quite frustrating being in such close proximity to Sandie, knowing that we had nowhere private to get jiggly. Garth and Joyce did however slope off early, presumably to his room. When I met him the next day, he was in a much better mood than he had been the previous week, so I assumed he had managed to dip his wick this time.
That Saturday and Sunday had been designated a working weekend, before we broke up for the two-week Easter block leave, starting after duty the following Wednesday. On working weekends, we were confined to base, so nobody could avoid the fatigues and parade rehearsals we had to carry out, so no dates with Sandie or Joyce were possible for us. I had originally planned to go ‘home’ to my parent's house for Easter. But after receiving Gill’s letter dumping me and now having hooked up with Sandie, I had now decided to stay put.
I had hoped to have our room to myself for a couple of weeks. The base would be quiet, and figured I could risk sneaking Sandie in (hmm lesson not learned after all?). But that hope was dashed. One of my room mates, Paddy (honest, he really did go by that!) was a Northern Irish lad. There had been an upsurge in violence in his home city of Belfast, and there was genuine danger to life for those seen as members of the “Brit Security Forces;” especially Irishmen, seen as traitors to the cause. So, Paddy was banned from going home.
I casually mentioned this dilemma to Garth, as we were eating our tea in the cookhouse after work on Wednesday. A while later, as I was lay on my bed, contemplating how to play things over the next couple of weeks, when Garth tapped on our door and entered. “Payback time, mate,” he said. He was shortly leaving to drive up North for his leave. He would not be back until late on the last day before classes resumed. He handed me the key to his single room, with two conditions: do sheet change before I get back, do not get caught! otherwise, have an “Easter Eggstravagansa!”