1970's book

From the book that defined my teenage sexual years!

Any one any more?


Extract from confessions of a private soldier


‘You stand on the window ledge and I'll support
you.'
Bell pulls himself up on the ledge and I hold his legs and
wait for reports.
'What are they doing? '
'Wait a minute, I can't - oh, yes. They've taken the sheet
ofi the billiards table. Blimey! '
'What is it? What are they doing?! ' I croak.
But I never get the chance to find out. A torch starts flash-
ing behind us and an upper class voice starts trilling in our
ear-holes.
'Hey! You two! What the deuce do you think you're
doing? Come here!'
'Run for it!' Bell does not have a lot of alternative be-
cause I do not wait for a reply but start legging it towards
the nearest line of huts. I hear him hit the ground as I belt
round the corner of a pile of coke.
'Come back!!' screeches a voice sounding both angry
and surprised. Bell rushes round the corner and nearly jumps
out of his skin when I grab his arm.
"Thanks for waiting! You're a blooming fine mate, aren't
you ? I might have broken my bloody leg.'
1 was just doing a little recce. Come on, this way.' We
run down a row of darkened billets, and then - blimey!
There is another torch flashing in front of us.
'We'll have to hide.' Our eyes bounce off the surrounding
landscape and I notice a barrack room door that is slightly
open. In here.' We dart inside and there are two rows of
sleeping bodies. Outside can be heard the sound of running
footsteps. 'Under the beds.' My hooter collides with the
floor and I wriggle under the nearest fluff trap. Above me a
body stirs and I turn my head sideways to avoid the sagging
springs. It is funny but I can see a brassiere hanging from the
knob of the bedside locker. A trophy, I suppose.
An arc of light spreading across the floor tells me that the
door has opened. 'Excuse me, ladies. You haven't seen a
couple of men in here, have you?'
Before I can totally grasp the significance of that remark
a female voice speaks from above me. 'No such bleeding
luck, mate. Have you got a couple to spare? '
'They were seen hanging around the sergeants' mess.'
'Why don't you hang around here yourself? And bring
your mate in with you.'
'We'll soon stop you hanging,' says another female voice.
Could it be? Is it possible that—? No, it can't be. Yet,
perhaps. Who knows? Mayb&— (Get on with it! Ed. Sorry,
T.L.) We must have blundered into the W.R.A.C. sleeping
quarters - they are called that because they don't do any-
thing by halves. (Get it? Halves? Quarters? Oh, forget it!)
'We've got a job to do,' says a worried male voice.
'You can get on the job with me any time you like,' says
a female voice from the next-door bed.
There is no doubt about it. We are trapped in the midst
of the man-eating W.R.A.C.S. For a second I flirt with the
idea of giving myself up and then I think of Sergeant Lake
and change my mind. When he smiles it looks like a bag
full of arseholes exploding and I don't want to get on the
wrong side of him - not that any of his sides looks particu-
larly good.
If you see anyone, let us know.'
'You'll be lucky.' It is the bird above me who is talking
and as she rabbits, her mit dangles over the side of the bed
and collides with my dicky dirt. Almost in the same move-
ment she starts feeling the contours of my body and her
fingers dart down to Percy's parlour. This is it, I think. Any
second now she will scream the place down and it will be
'Goodbye Timothy' for another couple of years. I hold my
breath but soon that is not the only thing that is being held.
If I find anything. I'm hanging on to it,' says the saucy cow
and, so help me, she flips open my fly and grabs a handful
of willing flesh. It is all I can do to keep my mouth shut
'Don't joke about it,' says the sour male voice. I am
serious.'
'So am 1.' Percy gets a gentle tweak and responds like a
starving moggy being thrown into a vat of cream. He is
practically having it away with one of the bed springs and
it occurs to me that anyone looking under the bed could
Jump to a few very unfortunate conclusions.
'We'll be off then.' The voice sounds relieved. 'You know
where to find us if you need us.'
'You're never where I want you when I need you.'
'Goodnight.'
'Goodnight, sexy.'
The door closes and there are a few moments of silence
during which the pressure on my action man kit does not
lessen.
'What are you doing, Brenda?' says a voice from the next
bed.'Brenda!!'
'Look what I've found,' says my new friend who must
have spent her formative years on a test-your-grip machine.
The time has obviously come for me to say thank you
and goodnight. Not without difficulty I liberate Percy and
wriggle out from under the bed.
'Thanks a lot, girls,' I whisper. 'We'll do the same for you
one day.'
'You're not going.' I would like to be able to insert a
question mark at the end of those four words but it is not
possible.
I've got to get back and finish my kit,' I whine. 'We've
only just got here.'
1 can see that by your hair.' The bird runs her steely
fingers through my bamet and takes a deep breath. She is
not bad looking really and is wearing a shortie night dress
which is like one of those frilly things you put round Christ-
mas cakes. I can see that it is short because she has thrown
back the bedclothes, giving me a quick flash of her muff in
the process.
'Yes, well-er, we'd better be getting along,' I whimper,
managing to get my shirt zipped up in my trousers.
'What's the hurry?' Another bird drapes herself across
the door.
'Like I said, we've got to—'
'Watch out the M.P.S don't get you. That's right. You
heard what the man said: "If you see anyone, let us
know." '
'Yeah, but you wouldn't—'
'We might, mightn't we girls?' There are a lot of heads
nodding round the barrack room.
It could be very nasty, couldn't it? Attempted rape on
your first night in the army.'
'Attempted rape? We haven't touched anyone.'
Brenda shakes her head. 'No, you haven't, have you?'
She stretches back on the bed and draws up her legs. 'No-
body would believe you, though, would they?' The bird in
the bed opposite suddenly seizes the front of her nightdress
and rips it down to the navel. 'You swine!' she hisses at
Bell.
Bell starts back in surprise, topples over the next bed and
- it is almost too horrible to relate. What happens next is
like dropping a goldfish into a tank full of pirhana. Before
you can say 'Grievous bodily harm' half a dozen birds have
leapt on to him and his nut chokers are resting on top of a
pile of the rest of his clothing. The speed at which they
can move is- terrifying. His mouth opens to cry out but
Brenda is swift to offer a few words of advice. 'Remember
the Military Police,' she says. 1 reckon you'd get ten years
for what you're about to do.'
'About to do?' croaks Bell.
'You know what Confucius says? "Lie back and enjoy
it. You've got an opportunity most men only dream about." '
'That's right, dearie,' says another eager lady shedding
her night attire to reveal that she obviously poses for
Michelin tyre advertisements. 'Let's all have a nice time.'
'That's right. Tinker. Don't be a spoilsport,' I say loyally.
'You know you've been waiting for a chance like this.'
'And you,' says Brenda.
1 beg your pardon,' I say, reading the look in her eyes.
'Get 'em off. You can start rolling on this side of the room.
And don't over-tax yourself to begin with. There are nine
girls looking for satisfaction.'
'Eight,' says a disappointed voice from the end of the
room.
'Eight!?' I squeal. 'You must be joking. Let's not be
ridiculous about this. We've all had a good laugh, now let
me leave you with my friend Private Bell. I'm certain that—'
'Take your trousers off or I'll scream the place down and
say you raped me.'
'Which end would you like me to start?'
I mean! What can I do? With a record that is worse than
Jimmy Osmond singing 'Long Haired Lover from Liver-
pool' what chance have I got of avoiding another long
stretch in the nick? Better a short stretch with the military
misses.
'You can start with me. Cuddles.'
'Cuddles', hub. No woman has ever called me that before.
I drop my trousers and search Brenda's face for a hint of
mercy. Not a chance. I might as well expect to find the
hammer and sickle tattooed on Ted Heath's chest.
'You can come under the bedclothes if you're shy.'
There is a hiss of disapproval but I gratefully bundle un-
der the blankets and find Brenda's hungry mouth leeching
on to my own. She kisses like she is trying to suck the wrap-
per off a bullseye and her crutch level radar soon locates
unsuspecting Percy. 'Search and destroy' might be the mes-
sage it sends out. Before you can say 'Roger Carpenter' I
have disappeared into her like a collar stud down a plug
hole and her pelvis is rotating like she is standing in for a
local flour mill. I hang on for grim death and try and think
about Harold Wilson's alpenstock, or anything, to stop me
from boiling over. If I have seven more like her to get
through I need to restrain myself.
Fortunately Brenda goes off faster than a tin of snoek
in a heat wave and the second I hear the death rattle begin-
ning to build up at the back of her throat my feet are hitting
the floor. Given half a chance they would be guiding me to
the door, but Brenda's next door neighbour is swift to
pounce. 'Wanda,' she breathes by way of introduction and
loses no time in letting her hands show me how she got
her name. Having checked that my equipment is still in
working order she pulls me down on top of her and sinks her
fangs into my shoulder.
‘I want to put my mark on you,' she hisses passionately.
I never go a bundle on scratchers and biters and tonight
I cannot afford to be roughed up too much.
'Watch it,' I say. 'Don't get carried away in case I do.'
'Despoil me,' she hisses. 'Treat me like the lowest whore
in Christendom.' She has obviously been reading too many
James Bond books. You can tell that a mile off.
'Don't be a nana,' I tell her. I'm not here for my holidays,
you know.' I can see she is going to go on a bit so I send her
down two of my right hand men to do a recce and plunge
into her furry loofah like a clammy khasi pilot on piece
work.
'Oh, no,' she says. 'No, no, no, no, NO! ' All the time she
is saying that she is pulling me on to her like someone trying
to force one and a half pounds of rump steak up a drain
pipe. I don't know what she does when she is telling you to
piss off. I am soon in trouble because the minute a bird hits
a big attack of the moanies, Percy starts getting all senti-
mental and I can sense that a slight weight loss in the
Y-front area is a good deal nearer than Christmas. I try to
think about athletes foot in a nudists' camp but it is no
good. This bird could clear a blocked-up drain by looking
at it and when my feet hit the floor Percy is nestling against
my goolies like he is trying to hatch them.
'Are you all right, dear?' says a kindly voice from bed
number three.
'He's lovely,' says Wanda with feeling. I stop her feeling
and stagger towards my next appointment with stress failure.
How long can I keep this up?
The same thought is obviously occurring to the lady at
the end of the row.
'Leave something for me,' she sings out. 'Don't exhaust
him.'
'He'll be safe with me,' says the inmate of bed number
three. 'Cuddle up close, ducky love. We'll soon have you
in the straight and narrow.' I don't know where she gets the
'narrow' from. When I eventually introduce my spam ram
to her spasm chasm it is like sending a rocket ship on a trip
into outer space - or inner space, more like.
Fortunately, bed number four throws up a chick called
Norma who is so eager to grab a slice of the action that she
vaults aboard the flesh fest and lends her not inconsiderable
talents to the task of giving Percy a sense of responsibility.
Like they say at the Chinese electrician's: many hands make
light work. Norma's subtle fingers were obviously intended
for better things than scraping mashed potatoes off a spatula
in the Junior Ranks Restaurant and soon I am more con-
fused than a worm in a can of spaghetti. Talk about being
bombarded with sensations, the Sunday papers would be
pushed to do better. By the time I have finished with those
two birds I don't know if I've been nibbled or nobbled. Both,
I reckon.
Four down and four to go. Blimey, I would have bought a
bar of chocolate if I had known.
I take a butchers across the room and see that Bell is still
trapped on bed number two. Either he is giving better value
for money than me or is meeting stiffer resistance. By the
time I am dragged onto bed number five my piece of resist-
ance is certainly not stiff.
'Can I come back next week?' I gulp.
'Unless you get on with it you won't be able to come back
next week,' snarls a voice which is obviously in no mood for
disappointment. 'One scream from me and the only time
you'll be leaving the guard room is for your court-martial.'
'Give me a few minutes, then. I'm not a bloody machine.'
It always gets right up my bracket that birds should be able
to go on for ever like battery operated fire-crackers while
us blokes have to lie around listening to them moaning for
action. It makes me think of all the times I have had a hard
on and never the chance to use it. Like when you don't want
a copper, the bastards are falling out of the trees. Now that
I need some penis power my old man is like a ripple on a
saucer of cream.
'No need to waste your time while you're waiting,' says
the saucy minx. 1 had a bath tonight.' If I had any difficulty
working out what she was getting at she makes it easy for
me by pushing down the bed clothes, pulling up her nightie
and showing me what is on the menu. I have nothing against
a spot of muff diving but I am not sure I want to indulge
before a barrack room full of birds. It is putting a bit of a
strain on my natural sense of delicacy. 'Right, if that's the
best you can do then I might as well give my lungs a bit of
exercise.'
That does it. I am administering the kiss of life before you
can say 'don't talk with your mouth full'.
Fortunately, Percy finds it almost as stimulating to give
as to receive and I am able to finish off number five with a
spot of pelvis pumping and still retain my deposit. I never
find out what the bird's name is but it doesn't worry me
overmuch as I don't intend to send her a bunch of flowers
in the morning. I don't ask much from a woman, but a little
common civility helps - even downright vulgar civility is
better than nothing.
I hit number six before Percy has time to get cheesed off
and I must confess that she is quite a nice little article. Dres-
den china compared to some of them. She grabs hold of you
like a bad habit and from the feel of her it is quite possible
to believe that she has not indulged in a gang bang with the
Congolese Cavalry. Like a tightly coiled velvet spring, it is,
rather than the inside of an elephant's trunk. She is also a
very excitable little creature and, as I have said before, a
spot. of audience participation is always a help, isn't it? One
is grateful to see that one's efforts are being appreciated.
This bird shivers like a hundred and ten pounds of jelly in a
tornado and the noise she makes is even louder than the
sound of Bell screaming for mercy across the other side of
the room. It is just as well that poor Tinker is up against it
- or not up against it, as is more nearly the case - because
the sound of him rabbiting on diverts my attention from the
owner of the punctured minge fringe currently wriggling on
the end of my sunshine stick. I am not president of the local
sperm bank and cannot afford to be taken out of myself at
this stage of the game. Game! I would laugh hollowly if I
had the strength.
'Hurry up, I can't wait much longer!' pants the bint in
the next bed.
'Carry on without me,' I croak. I'll try and catch up with
you, later.'
This course of action is clearly not to the lady's liking but
fortunately a back-throat yodel from my current sparring
partner tells me that my responsibilities are discharged -
and darn nearly not the only thing, either.
As I cross the floor I feel like a marathon runner entering
the stadium and the image is sustained when I hit the lower
turn of the judy in bed number seven. Talk about an echo
chamber. Compared to her an aircraft hangar would be like
the inside of a shoe box.
'OOOh! That feels smashing,' she gloats. I am glad she
can feel something. I reckon I would be pushed to touch
the sides if I folded my old man in half. After all I have been
through it is not surprising really, I suppose.
In order to keep my pecker up I chuck in a few groans of
my own and Percy is so stupid that he imagines he is having
a marvellous time and responds like a daft dog fishing sticks
out of a pond.
I count up to twenty in roman numerals and the lady with
a heart as big as all outdoors and a twat to match, goes into
orbit. Another satisfied customer! At this rate they might
hang on to me for the regimental mascot. Bell, they could
drape over one of the drums. He is in bed number four on
the other side of the room and he does not look as if he is
going to get out of it. I have seen more action watching a
mosquito sprint across a slice of treacle pudding.
'Are you all right, mate?' I hiss.
'What did he do in civvy street?' says one of the birds
scornfully. 'Work in a steam laundry? He's all washed out.'
'You'd better get over here sharpish,' says another bird.
The words strike cold terror into my heart - and more
southerly regions - because the bint is talking to me! Is it
possible that female nature could plumb such depths? Of
course it is. You don't have to take out a year's subscription
to 'True Romances' to know the answer to that one. Your
grade one oggins-hungry bird is not easily robbed of her
prey.
To my surprise relief arrives from an unexpected quarter.
Brenda is swift to speak her mind.
'He belongs to us,' she says. 'You've got your own bloke.
It's not our fault he's duff. Before ours does anything he's
going to give us seconds first.'
That is it! The minute I hear those words I wish I bad
a cut throat razor in my hand. I would put myself beyond
the reach of the perishing lot of them.
'That's typical! ' snaps a voice from the bed next to Bell.
'We never get a fair crack at the wick.'
'Rubbish! You don't know anything about the arts of
love, that's your trouble. You don't know how to coax the
best out of a man.'
I feel like joining in the belly laugh that greets that one
but I am too exhausted. Also, it is difficult to laugh when
your face is buried in the middle of a mobile knocker fac-
tory.
The bird in bed number eight is sobbing because she is
temporarily out of action - either that or she can't bear to
see what they are doing to me - and the inmate of number
nine moves with remarkable speed for a large woman. And
when I say large I don't mean Mama Cass I mean 'Excuse
me, but can you direct me to the other half of the elephant
act?' She snatches me into her hungry arms and scuttles back
to her bed like a two-ton spider. I am beyond resistance and
can only lie gasping for breath as she massages me into her
body like a jar of Sloan's linament. When you have a bird
with as many ruckles of flesh as she has got it is difficult
to know quite what is happening. In my case it is very little,
but the lady seems grateful to have anything at all. When I
take a quick butchers at her mug I can see why. Blimey!
What a disgusting sight. I am better off being suffocated be-
tween her bristols. I dive back into her flesh bunker and let
her get on with it.
I don't know what she normally gets up to in that bed but
it rattles like a tray of tin tacks. That coupled with Big
Bertha's happy shudders and a few piebald comments from
the rest of the barrack room make it seem like New Year's
Eve in The Dug and Dick. If the M.P.S are still about they
will be through the door like a dose of salts. There is no
point in me subjecting myself to the threat of instant heart
failure any longer. I can get out with impunity - and any-
one else who wants to come. Big B. lets out a disgusting
gurgle like dirty bath water disappearing down the plug hole
and I know that my debt to society has been paid.
'O.K.,' I say menacingly, vaulting from the bed. I'm get-
ting out of here and I wouldn't try and stop me if I were
you.'
There is an ugly rumble from a number of ugly throats
and a groan from Bell. 'Get off him,' I tell the buxom
charmer engaged in hammering his dongler up to his rib
cage. 'He's coming with me.'
'You go on,' groans my comrade, ‘I don't think I'll be
able to make it.'
'You can say that again,' scoffs his attacker. 1 don't think
he's ever made it.'
'Get away from that door,' I tell Brenda. 'We're going
through and nothing is going to stop us.'
‘I'll scream.'
'Scream the place down. Right now I really fancy a nice,
quiet cell.' I may be mistaken but I think Bell is sobbing.
The poor devil! What have they done to him?
'Are you ready, girls?' Brenda opens her large trap and
there is a sharp intake of breath around me.
'Come on. Tinker.' I help my stricken comrade to his
feet and guide his unsteady footsteps towards the door. What
a shame I haven't the strength left to whistle the march
from 'The Bridge Over the River Kwai'.
'H-e-e-ell-l—' I would like to be able to report that Brenda
belts up because I catch her a fourpenny one across the cake-
hole but this is regrettably not the case. Just as I am ap-
proaching her not ungenerous curves the hut door flies open
and two blokes are revealed standing shoulder to shoulder
in the doorway.
I am about to throw myself down on my knees to give
thanks when I see that it is not two blokes. It is the enormous
W.R.A.C. Sergeant who was at the sergeants' mess party.
'Ho, ho. What have we here?' she says. 'Been interfering
with my little chickadees, have you?'
'No, no,' I shriek. 'My friend felt faint as we were passing
and we came in for a glass of water.'
A gasp of amazed outrage goes up at this remark.
'Blooming lies!' hisses Brenda. 'You only have to look
at them to see why they came here.'
‘I was going to ask if it was necessary to take off all your
clothes to drink a glass of water,' says the Sergeant.
'We're very messy drinkers,' I explain.
‘It was horrible,' snivels treacherous Wanda. 'They-they-
attacked us.'
'Only in self defense,' croaks Bell. 'They said they'd;
scream for the M.Ps unless we went to bed with them.'
‘I don't know how you have the gall to say that.'
'Because it's the bleeding truth, that's why!'
'Silence, all of you.' Sergeant Big waves an arm at Bell
and myself. 'You two come with me. The rest of you try to
shut out this harrowing experience and get some sleep. Have
no fear, the malefactors will be punished.'
'What's a malefactor. Sergeant?' asks one of the bints.
'An evil doer.'
'That's him all right,' says the bird indicating Bell. 'He
was—' She suddenly realises what she is saying and belts
up.
'Try not to think about it,' says the Sergeant sympathetically. She jerks her finger at us. 'Get your clothes on and
get outside, you scum. You're going to get what's coming
to you.'
'Oh, my gawd! ' moans Bell.
We struggle into our threads and out of the billet. I crack
my ankle against one of the beds and I am hobbling worse
than Bell by the time we begin to stumble down the row of
huts.
'Did you attack those girls?' accuses Sergeant Big.
'No! ' squeals Bell. 'They must have very vivid imagina-
tions or something.'
'Are you sure?' The Sergeant has stopped outside a hut
set back from the others. She opens the door with a key and
shoos us inside. It occurs to me that she is fairly well pissed.
I wonder why she is not bothering to put on the light.
'We never laid a finger on them,' I say. 'We wouldn't,
would we? It would be stupid to try and have it away with
a whole room full of birds.'
‘Insane,' chokes Bell. I think he has started crying again.
'You could get three years for just being in that billet,'
says our large captor, menacingly. By the cringe, but she is
ugly. Especially when she starts unbuttoning her tunic -
hey! Wait a minute. What does she think she is doing?
‘I should hand you over,' she says. 'But I can understand
how, faced by that bevy of beauty, your natural appetites got
the better of you. You must be very frustrated.'
'Frustrated! ' croaks Bell.
'You didn't touch them, did you?' says Sergeant Big sus-
piciously.
'No! Of course not,' shrieks Bell. I don't say anything
because I am too busy looking at the hairy armpits revealed
when she takes her blouse off.
'Right. You lucky boys can appease your lust on me.'
'Yerwhat? 'says Bell.
I'm prepared to turn a blind eye this time.' Now come to
think about it she does look as if she has got a glass eye.
'Don't just stand there, otherwise I'll think you don't fancy
me.'
'Well—'
'—And then it would have to be down to the guardroom.'
'Oh, blimey,' says Bell. 'What are we going to do?'
I don't know,' I say, starting to remove my trousers. I
expect we'll think of something.'