Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.
As far as I know the story is mainly fiction but it does contain some elements which did really happen. When you write a yarn some happening triggers off the sequence. Over the past few weeks several incidents - on the news, in the papers, a conversation, recollections - set me thinking, et voila.......
Taming the 'Phobes
By
Joel
Part 3:
I woke with a start, remembered quickly where I was, looked at my watch and saw it was half past four in the morning. I rolled away from Royston and pulled up my boxers and combats. A sleepy voice whispered in my ear.
"Good job you didn't make me lick the grass clean last time we were out, I don't think mine tastes so good as yours, Jack Sprat!"
Jack fucking Sprat! He wasn't asleep that last time when I'd licked the platter clean - strange he should think of the same metaphor - and he must have shed his load too after I'd dropped off to sleep that time. What a waste of an opportunity!
Later that morning as we tramped up the last long lane behind the other pair to the pick up point he filled me in on his past life a bit. He said he'd slept in the same bed with a cousin who was three months older than him from the age of seven until the cousin had left to go to Uni and he'd joined the Army. The cousin had been dumped on Royston's mum by a rather wayward sister who had conveniently disappeared so Baron had been brought up with Royston almost as a twin brother. They were ardent wank-, suck- and fuck-buddies and he confessed he missed Baron although they had both fucked girls as well and he had to balance all this against his mother's and his own religious principles. Without asking him how, he said he'd figured out if the Good Lord had given him a nice prick, a nice body and a sturdy right hand then if he used them for his and other's pleasure without harming anyone it must have been in the Good Lord's intention for him to do so. He did say that what had triggered his mother's worries about him and his decision to join up was his performing as a strip artist at a club. He shyly said it was a gay club but he never got involved with the clientele but his mother had somehow found out he wasn't always down the gym!
I liked Royston more and more as we talked and I 'fessed up I'd also had a very close friend and we'd satisfied each other's urges since that momentous time I'd first experienced orgasm. I asked him about his growing friendship with Wayne and Ferdy and he said they had been most welcoming to him after that episode in the barrack room. They realised they were also minority as well, Italian and Irish, so they'd better stick together. Actually, he said, he felt very much at home with all the members of the squad and even Jason, who was still a bit wary, was feeling wanted.
We were on time, the truck was slightly late as it had to wait for a tardy four who, collectively, were very dirty, dishevelled and stank, having tried to ford a stream before realising it was an outflow from a farmyard. We got back in good time and were showered, shaved, etc., etc., before most of the others returned with tales of being ambushed, chased by cattle and, in one case, being fed cream teas by a sympathetic farmer's wife.
So, basic training was fast coming to a close. At the beginning we had been given a number of tests to do and also had interviews to find out what we thought we wanted to do in our Army career. I hadn't been very positive - I thought being in the Army meant you had a rifle and you went out to war or to keep the peace.. Yep, there were those roles but quite a few had chosen to join up because of the promises of trade-training. That meant as the last three weeks progressed so more interviews took place and promises were made.
The two lads from the Homes who had become very friendly both wanted to become cooks. Both were accepted. Two others were going to use already acquired driving skills, and so on. Then, on the Thursday before the final week of training with our passing-out parade on the Wednesday, just as we had fallen in for drill at O nine hundred hours Bungho came marching up very importantly.
Every time we saw him somebody suffered - the previous week he'd threatened two stragglers to put them on a charge - a fizzer - for being late and to relegate them for a fortnight. Bluster, but effective. No one wanted to spend their evenings washing down the Company Office window sills in full uniform and pack as several poor buggers were seen doing the night before, or being kept back and placed in a new squad going over all the training again. We had two of them in our ranks, one for getting into trouble on a weekend pass and spending fourteen days in the Guardhouse for his pains and a second, who through no fault of his own, spent ten days in hospital..
Bungalow cornered our Squad NCO and then marched stiffly and stopped in front of me.
"Squad Lance-Corporal Boon to report to the CO's Room, Company Office, for interview, at fourteen hundred hours, Monday," he intoned importantly. He paused. "And do not be late."
That was odd. Interviews were usually listed on Company Orders and took place in rooms in the lecture block. No one we knew of, when the matter was discussed later, had experienced an interview in the Company Office of all places. Actually we had all been seen by the Commanding Officer, Major Stephenson, on arrival but that was en masse, and that was outside the Company Office. I was to enter the hallowed portals themselves rather than just visiting the Post Room tacked on the end.
Also, that last weekend of training, those who wanted could have a forty-eight hour leave pass - Friday sixteen hundred hours to Sunday twenty-three hundred hours. I decided against. Letters from home were still not very friendly. I wrote home diligently, mainly to my mother, every week and she replied. Little news from Dad. About half the squad went off and we had another visit from Bigelow on the Friday afternoon just before being dismissed for the weekend.
"Right," he announced, "Those of you going home to fond mothers and fathers or to wives and girlfriends or friends of any persuasion, fall out!"
A relieved set of travellers scurried off leaving ten of us who were ordered to line up properly and promptly. We were then informed there were tasks for us on Sunday morning. Four would be detailed to clean up the Company Office and six the Lecture Block. And..., if he, personally, found a speck of dirt or a smear on a window, then he, personally, would see that we would be repeating those parts of the course which would make soldiers of us!
Saturday it pissed with rain so the ten of us spent most of the time in the barrack room bulling up ready for the big parade on Wednesday. Taffy and I tossed up to see who would do what on Sunday and I won so chose the Company Office with Royston, Yorkie and Dwayne as my cleaning staff. Ferdy had gone home to make peace with his father and to see his aged grandmother. Jason had also taken the opportunity to go home to Luton but was rather wary of meeting up with old acquaintances.
Saturday night we celebrated somewhat at the NAAFI and two of the lads had a bit too much to drink and were threatened with immediate castration if they sicked up on the floor. The threat was meaningless as both were too far gone to comprehend, even when we put them to bed and pulled their trousers and pants off to cries of "Off with them!" and their shrivelled dicks and balls were revealed. Royston nudged me later and whispered, "They little white boys ain't got no good black dick, uh, like you?"
Sunday morning I led my contingent to the Company office where the Duty Clerk let us in, showed us where the cupboard containing the cleaning equipment was then went off again, bleary eyed, back to his "sodding wank-pit, no doubt, lucky bastard!" according to Dwayne.
I had a quick look round to gauge what had to be done. The CO's office was remarkably tidy, nothing on the desk except a blotter, two pens and a black telephone. The two glass-fronted cabinets held an assortment of training manuals, five copies of Queen's Regulations and assorted books on chess and bridge.
The Adjutant's office on the other hand was a real shambles. Two desks pushed together covered with brown files, green files and the occasional red one. There were two over-flowing ashtrays and two telephones plus a set of golf clubs, most not in the bag leaning against a cupboard bursting with more files. Hanging on the back of the door were a rugger jersey, shorts, jock strap (well-worn) and two pairs of mud-encrusted football boots dangling by their laces.
I gathered up the dirty football togs and sent Dwayne off with a fifty-pence piece to the launderette next to the NAAFI with instructions to tell the oik in charge who they belonged too and he would be back in two hours to collect hem, washed, dried, pressed and folded. I said I would clean up the Adjutant's office, Dwayne would do the CO's and the other two the Chief Clerk's and the two smaller offices until Dwayne could help as well. However, before they started I checked what they had to do and, of course, inadvertently, not on purpose, cross my heart, had a quick shufti at the Chief Clerk's desk diary. There it was. Monday: 12.30 hrs Major Bullivant, Lt. Campbell: CO lunch. 13.45 CO Transport GHQ 14.00. SLC Boon E CO's office free. 15.00 Tea for three. So, who was I to be interviewed by and why?
I remembered one of the books in the CO's room was the Army List so I trundled back on the excuse of checking to see if shelves needed dusting and quickly turned up, Bullivant, A. Major (Staff) and Campbell R. 2nd Lt, Black Watch.
Cleaning went well. Even the Adjutant's office looked tidier. I didn't attempt to put the files, mainly training orders and nothing so secret Saddam Hussain or the Argies would give a million pounds for, in any sort of order. They were dusted and returned, as far as I could tell, to their original positions. But ashtrays were emptied, surfaces dusted and windows washed and by twelve hundred hours the suite of offices looked clean, if not, other than the CO's, too tidy. Dwayne went off and on return the clean rugger togs and now un- muddy boots were placed strategically on a chair with all golf clubs back in the bag.
Bigelow came, looked, grunted and we went off for a substantial Sunday cookhouse lunch, me with vital information!
That afternoon Taffy and I went for a long walk, evading the Guardhouse, and discussed how we felt about our training, our roommates, our futures, whatever. He was down for a Signals posting and was curious about me not knowing yet my fate.
I said I would be quite happy as a squaddie but he averred I would need more than that to keep me occupied and motivated. We discussed all our room mates - real mates now, friends in the main, but, although he remarked on the close friendship that had developed between Dwayne and Ferdy especially and how pally I seemed to be with Royston, I did not enlighten him over what Royston and I had witnessed, or done, on the long bivouac. But, just for old times sake, Taffy and I ended up in the same old National Service hut and tossed each other off as we had done just those few weeks before.
"May not see you again after we've finished here," he said, "But I've really valued your friendship, thanks."
I said the same and I think we were both a bit sad we would all be parting soon. To lighten up a bit we discussed what we would like to do to Bungalow before we departed.
Luckily all returned safely from leave that night. Two with news. One lad, who we didn't know until then was married, announced to general congratulations that his wife was pregnant. A second lad announced his girlfriend was also pregnant and he was fucking certain it wasn't his! Load moans and lots of advice to ditch the cow!
That night I had a second wank of the day reviewing my three encounters, two with Taffy and the extraordinary one with Royston. It was odd, I didn't have one image of Jake at all as my spunk squirted and spurted into the sock held strategically round my cock.
Monday morning came and so did Bigelow. Our Squad NCO was urgently required to take over a map-reading course so dear Sergeant Bungalow was let loose on us. By 1200 hours, when we were finally dismissed, he had reduced most of us to quivering wrecks. I was singled out for several loads of invective, possibly because I had this mysterious interview to come, but everyone suffered in some way. At least half the squad had to double round the parade ground for some perceived misdemeanour and he particularly picked on the two lads who were going to be cooks - almost saying they were a couple of effeminate poofs but disguising this again by his recourse to 'pregnant fairies' - the 'poofs' was a general comment about all of us when we didn't quite come up to slope arms with the accuracy he required. He gave both Royston and Jason a hard time, squinting up and down at them and at one time telling the lot of us we about as useful as two big tarts from Brixton. As Royston came from around that area I thought that was a bit near the mark. Thankfully I wouldn't have to endure him for the rest of the afternoon.
I rushed off parade, managed to get a quick lunch, showered and put on my best uniform and presented myself at the steps of the Company Office at 13.55 hours prompt. Bigelow was waiting. He eyed me up an down as if I were an increasingly large pile of half- warm shit. He saw nothing to criticise and at precisely fourteen hundred hours I was marched up the steps and escorted into the CO's Office to the chant of "Lef' Righ' Lef' Righ'...Halt!" I saluted the seated figure smartly and stood stiffly to attention as the seated officer dismissed Bungho with thanks. The door was closed behind me, a chair placed and the seated figure spoke.
"Right, Temporary Unpaid Squad Lance-Corporal Boon you may stand easy, in fact, have a chair. Take your hat off too, it's much too stuffy to wear that and have a decent conversation, eh, Roddy?"
The second figure appeared from behind me and sat in the chair beside, as I could see now, a Major with red tabs, aha, Staff! The second figure, in almost scruffy combats, had a single pip on his shoulder bands. Then my heart almost stopped. He gave me the most winning smile, I felt the same sort of 'zing' I had when I saw Andrew Forbes and he was naked! The 'zing' this time was even more so. I daren't look at him, I knew I would sprout a hardon, I fixed my gaze on the Major.
"I expect you want to know the nature of this interview," he began in a very friendly way. "I ought to tell you we have already spoken with your headmaster and Roddy had a trip to Oxford to talk to two of your friends." He looked at the papers in the folder in front of him. "Jeffrey Pringle, reading Maths and Jacob Manners, reading History. Good friends, eh?"
I gathered my senses. "Yes, sir," I said as clearly as I could, "The very best!"
"Heard from either about today?"
I'd had a letter from Jake on Friday detailing some theory he had about the Spartan Army. As this was a running joke between us, as he had informed me prior to my departure that the Spartans trained up their Army in pairs from boyhood where they were encouraged to be whole-hearted fuck-buddies as they believed that they would fight even harder in battle, I had laughed to myself. No, there was no hint of any fireside chat or otherwise.
"No sir, I had a letter from Jake Manners on Friday and there was nothing to alert me. I had a card of Christ Church where Jeffrey is a student about a fortnight ago. Nothing, sir."
"Good," he said and sucked his teeth. "I suppose you would like to know why we are here? It will be confidential and we will ask you to keep whatever is said secret. In fact, before we start I will ask you to sign the Official Secrets' Act document, which you would do in any case on any posting. Roddy, please pass this over."
Roddy, the Second-Lieutenant stood, picked up a piece of paper and a pen from in front of the Major and came round, stood next to me placing the document and pen in front of me. He was standing so close I imagined I could feel the heat of his body. My body heat increased and I felt a definite twitch down below. I read through the document, picked up the pen and signed and dated it.
"Right," said the Major as Roddy resumed his seat. "Now no names, no pack-drill. I will ask some questions and if the answers are as we require we will go further. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," I said, but I thought two can play at this game and I'd better tell the truth. "Sir," I said, "But I already know who you are."
He raised one eyebrow, a trick I hadn't ever been able to master.
He looked at Roddy. "I thought nothing was supposed to be divulged."
He looked back at me and the eyebrow raised again. I thought I'd better respond.
"Major A Bullivant, Staff and Lieutenant, (here I made an educated guess), Roderick Campbell, Black Watch."
They both burst out laughing.
"So much for military secrecy, eh Roddy?" the Major chortled. "And just tell me how you know?"
I explained as succinctly as I could the happenstance of the office cleaning, the look at the diary, the check in the Army List and the guess that Roddy was Roderick.
Everything thawed from that moment. I was obviously someone after their own heart. I soon learned they were looking for individuals who would join a specialised team who undertook undercover work of a highly secret and often sensitive nature.
I had been spotted and their checks on me had been positive for their requirements. I would undergo lengthy training, mainly in the company of Roddy who was already under training and would be my superior in rank but equal in the field. Bloody hell, if only I had decoded the hidden message implied by Jake's last letter! Clever Jake had twigged the purpose of his chat with Roddy and had given me ample clues but I was misled by his original thesis that I'd better find a good fuck-buddy soon to fight for and had thought this was just more of the same!
At three precisely, I looked pointedly at the clock. I murmured that tea should be arriving. They both laughed when a rap on the door sounded and a sprog private on orderly duty marched in bearing a tray of tea and biscuits. He did a double-take when he spied another sprog deep in conversation with two officers.
At one point the Major asked if I smoked or drank. I said I drank to be friendly but had never been drunk. I said I didn't smoke, having had a grandfather who had died of lung cancer, a father who had given up and a promise of one hundred pounds if I didn't smoke before I was twenty-one.
"But you smoke, sir," I said and the eyebrow went up again as I continued, "Pipe and Three Nuns."
"Roddy, no more to be said, I want him in! How did you know?"
"CO doesn't smoke as no ashtray on his desk when I cleaned it yesterday. The Adjutant had two ashtrays and that is one of them, courtesy of the Imperial Hotel, Torquay, and I smelt the smoke as I came in. My Uncle Joe smokes the same. Coming from a home with no smoking I know when he's been round to see my mother."
"And if you had been Sherlock Holmes..."
I took the plunge and interrupted him, "...I would be able to distinguish between one hundred and forty types of tobacco."
That settled it, the Major took out his pipe and he and Roddy then told me a few of the things I would be doing and I was instructed to tell inquirers I'd been selected to join a new computer section and would be going for training almost immediately. At half past three - I mean fifteen thirty hours - I was warmly shaken by the hand and addressed as young Edward by the Major and given a more than warm handshake and a knowing look by Roddy. Roddy then said I would hear of my posting by Wednesday next. I stood, replaced my beret, saluted smartly, turned and marched out. I knew my life was about to undergo an enormous change.
When I got back to the barrack room it was empty. I sat on the edge of my bed and reviewed what I had been told. I knew there was danger and excitement and a hell of a lot of specialised learning ahead. Was I ready for it and did I have the ability and, more importantly, the stickability, to cope with it. Then there was Roddy. I knew I wanted him and that decided it. Come what may I knew in my heart of hearts I was made for him and he for me. All I had to do now was prove it!
When the squad finally got back they were completely knackered. Bungalow had taken over completely and had made it quite clear that unless they improved to his standard by sixteen hundred hours tomorrow he would, himself, personally, with intent, see that every member of the squad after the passing-out parade would be doing the most heartbreaking, backbreaking, mind-breaking, bollock-breaking fatigue duties until they were posted out of his sight. The squad was nothing more than a set of wishy-washy, namby-pamby, big-girly, poxed-up self-abusers whose only purpose in life was to make their own lives and the lives of their senior NCOs as miserable and unpleasant as possible and he wasn't going to be fucking-well miserable on their account.
He had reduced at least three of the squad to shambling, almost tearful, wrecks by his constant harrying and vituperative language. Again, he'd just about accused the two cooks- to-be to be addicted to sodomy and other pastimes and had also got at Royston and Jason in subtle ways for being black and probable possessors of larger than natural personal attributes. One phrase used which was dissected for possible slurs was "Some of you shower ain't natural...".
Of course, I was cross-questioned about my interview and, other than being twitted about my luck in missing the afternoon with Bungho, my explanation of being sent on a special computer course was accepted without question.
Bungalow was not in a good mood next morning and kept twisting the knife every time there was some minor error. At one time he had half the squad, including me and Taffy, doubling round the square. I got three earfuls including one starting off with a denunciation of not being present on parade the previous afternoon. I kept my mouth shut as he knew full well where I was as he had marched me in. I think he thought I was in the shit and that's why I was being hauled up to the Company Office. Luckily for all he had other duties that afternoon and our own Squad NCO returned and we had a final rehearsal for the great day tomorrow.
We all spent the evening bulling and polishing, seeing that trousers were pressed, tunics were box-pleated, caps cleaned and badges shining. We all set too and helped each other so we had time to get the barrack room cleaned up as that would be inspected by the CO himself.
The next day was an anti-climax. The barrack room and our serried ranks were first inspected by the CO. No problems. On the parade ground we marched past the Colonel in charge of the Depot after he had inspected us and spoken to quite a few. No problems. At last we were dismissed and found Bigelow waiting for us at the barrack room.
"Right, fourteen hundred hours sharp, fatigues," he announced and then indicated a pile of clothing. "Rig yourselves out in those coveralls." He turned and strode off.
The grumbling over lunch was stupendous. Bungho was cursed roundly, soundly but we were there, waiting, when a corporal with a clipboard turned up. It wasn't too bad. Royston and I were assigned to the Sick Bay where we had to swab a couple of floors with mops and stack some shelves. We were told we could report back in the morning which we did.
However, when I went to the Company Office at 16.15 to collect Company Orders I was also handed a sheet with my posting order for Monday next and a travel warrant made out to London, all stations, from the local station near the Depot. I noted it was all very vague. I had to report to a barracks in London and be on the local station at 10.00 to catch the 10.30 train. I was to report to the Transport Office at 09.30 hours.
Well, time passed quickly and most of the squad had a few drinks on Saturday evening. Quite a few had been to Church Parade on Sunday morning to get out of more fatigues and, just before lunch, one of the lads who had been on fatigue duty as Company Runner came pounding in.
"Hey, what do you fucking think?" he yelled, "Bastard Bungho's in the fucking Sick Bay. Story is he was found by the old huts this morning, fucking pissed out of his mind. Fuckers said he was wearing a gold fucking jockstrap and had a fucking banana stuck up his arse!" He waited for the effect. A stunned effect. Then he added, "And the fucking banana still had the fucking Fyffe's label on it!"
There was general laughter and cries of serve him fucking right, the bastard! But, I did notice some self-satisfied looks on the faces of Ferdy, Dwayne and Royston! I couldn't care less. I was out of the place the next day, so fuck Bigelow and his 'phobic ways!
Next morning I paraded at the Transport Office with pack, issued duffle bag and the best wishes of the barrack room. I was going to miss my mates but I was also rather glad I was going first. I'd said heartfelt cheerios the night before especially to
Ferdy, Dwayne, Yorkie and Jason and particularly to Taffy and Royston. In fact, Royston and I shared a brotherly hug. There was little point in saying 'keep in touch' as we were all destined for different careers and would be scattered all over the place, probably all over the world wherever the British Army served. So, it was 'Best of luck' from all to all.
I arrived at the station in good time and had dumped my pack and bag by a bench and was idly looking in the window of the paper kiosk when I recognised, in the reflection, someone on the platform opposite. It was Roddy and he was in civvies. He was dressed like a student, complete with large sports bag. I hoped he hadn't noticed I'd spotted him so I went over to the bench and sat down. After a couple of minutes someone came and sat next to me and a sports bag was plonked down by my feet. He was sitting pretty close to me as I stared idly across the platform.
"I hope you aren't trying to pick me up, mate," I said in a low voice, "I ain't that type of soldier and my mother told me about men like you!"
There was a throaty giggle from the figure next to me.
"Oh, fuck, am I as bad as that! When did you spot me, Sergeant Boon?"
I turned in amazement to look at him. He had that wonderful smile on his face.
"I'm not a sergeant...." I began.
"...You fucking are.. From this morning and now shut the fuck up and listen carefully. Go to those bogs at the end of the platform. There's an out of order sign but just go in. Third cubicle, bag like this. Change your clothes for what's inside. Stick all your clobber in your other bags but get anything personal out you need then leave them in there. The porter over there will collect them. And flush that travel warrant down the bog, I've got your proper ticket here. Now, back here in five minutes."
I stood, hefted my bags without looking at him and went over to the bog. Sure enough, a sports bag was there with a complete change of clothing. I was to become another typical student. I was four minutes and thirty seconds including stripping completely and donning a complete outfit from jockstrap outwards and also having a much-needed piss.
I plonked myself down next to Roddy and dropped my bag, purposely hitting him on one of his feet.
"All OK, Ted?" he asked and gave my bag a kick.
"Yeah," I said, not knowing whether to address him as Sir or Roddy, "Bloody jockstrap's too small, though." It was a boyish waist size of about twenty-six inches whereas I was about thirty-two.
The laugh came again. "Sorry, we forgot underpants so that's an old one of mine I put in at the last minute...." he paused. "...Just the waist or are you boasting?"
I almost said 'Wait and see' but hoped that might be at some time.
"Humph, I hate to think where it's been then," I said, "But I'm glad you put it in or else I'd be left dangling."
He punched me on the arm. "Cheeky bugger!" he said and that infectious grin appeared again.. I knew then we were not just officer and oik!
By this time the 10.30 train was signalled but we didn't move.
"Oh, by the way, call me Roddy and anyway we're going the other way on the 10.35."
Which way? Either way I was rather confused. We strolled slowly up the platform and over the bridge. The train was almost empty and we were quite a distance from other passengers but we didn't talk. As we went further into the countryside the train more or less emptied completely. It was only then he filled me in with a few facts. I had been promoted acting-Sergeant, paid, with effect from that morning. We were going to a specialised training place which to the outside world purported to be an up-market private sports centre, hence the outfits. And he said, very meaningfully I thought, that Jake had sent his best wishes.
I was not prepared for what happened over the next few months. If I thought Bigelow was a hard taskmaster and flogged his recruits to exhaustion and quivering masses of humanity then I, and the other eleven on this intake, were stretched to limits we didn't know we possessed. These limits were both mental and physical but we knew it was all with purpose and reason and we thrived on it. I was mentally and physically stimulated from day one.
There were six pairs. We never appeared in uniform. In fact I never saw mine again for almost two years. Although I knew Roddy was an officer we were all called by our first names or nicknames and no ranks. It was ages before I twigged that a crop-haired broken- nosed young bruiser, with tattoos in most peculiar places, was a Captain and the younger son of a Lord. His paired companion was a flaxen-haired youthful lad, same age as me, who looked as if he belonged on the playing-fields of Eton but was, in reality, the son of poor immigrant parents from Hungary living in the East End of London. So, we were a mixed bunch. I learned very quickly we were selected to be the basis for an undercover task-force ready to ferret out terrorists, undesirables, etc.
Learn we did, from the compulsory run at six-thirty a.m. each morning, to lectures and practical exercises, to tests and exams, we were at it from dawn to dusk. I loved every minute of it, even when, at times I felt I couldn't absorb another idea or climb another bloody rope suspended fifty feet up a tower.
But that first day on arriving at ............. (no names, no pack-drill, as Major Bullivant had said!) we were welcomed by staff - in civvies - as if it were a four-star hotel. Roddy had already been in residence for two months but his first assigned confederate had chickened- out and had left after a month and I was found as a replacement. When Roddy told me that I knew he was desperate to succeed and I knew that we would!
I followed Roddy and the smartly dressed major-domo up the curving stairs.
"I've put you two in a double, Roddy, if you don't mind. A bit more spacious than the rabbit-hutch you had," he said as we reached the top of the stairs. He turned to me. "I hope you don't mind sharing a room. I'm told he doesn't snore! And lunch is at one."
I said I didn't mind and was rewarded by another of Roddy's smiles. I also noted it was one, not thirteen hundred hours!
We were shown into a good-sized outer room, equipped with two desks, shelving and an assortment of books. A door led into the bedroom where two four-foot single beds were separated by a night-stand. Another door led to a small shower-bathroom and bog.
"Marvellous, Tom!" said Roddy, rubbing his hands, "Just right. Reminds me of my last years at Kinloch except we didn't have the luxury of an en-suite bathroom."
The major-domo looked pleased and said, "Anything for you, Roddy."
After unpacking my washing and shaving gear I'd rescued from my bags which were now Lord knows where, that was that. Roddy was flat out on one of the beds when I emerged from the bathroom.
"No choice, Ted," he said pointing across the room. "All your stuff's in the cupboard by that bed."
I opened the door. Neatly stacked were piles of underwear, tee-shirts, socks, sports kit and so on with a couple of suits and slacks hanging beside.
He laughed. "If any of it doesn't fit you can change it. And I want my jockstrap back - it's a family heirloom and I'll pass it on to my little brother when his balls drop!"
I sat on the edge of the bed. I must have looked a bit bewildered. He raised himself on an elbow and looked me straight in the eyes.
"Cheer up, mate," he said smiling broadly, "You and I are going to have a ball!"
Having a ball came on our third night of sharing the room. That Wednesday night was the turning point for both of us. We'd had a rigorous day. The morning run, breakfast, two hours in lectures, an hour in the gym, lunch, a battery of tests for an hour then an hour of very fast six-a-side football. Tea followed with another lecture, dinner at seven and the evening free. Free? We had to prepare a digest of the main points of the two morning lectures and answer a question on each.
We turned in about half-past ten. Weary, but I did feel exhilarated, I was enjoying being stretched and also being pampered at the same time. I needed a shower so stripped and went into the little bathroom and had a leisurely shower. While luxuriating under the warm torrent I realised I hadn't had a wank since Sunday night, that last night in the barrack-room. I contemplated having one under the shower because I was already getting the makings of a hardon. But no, I thought I would try an experiment.
I got out, dried myself and sauntered into the bedroom just with the towel knotted round my waist. Roddy was lying on top of his bed just clad in boxers of a revolting pattern. I went over to my cupboard and got out his old jockstrap.
"Thanks for the loan," I said, "I don't know what the system is for our washing yet but you'd better have that done before you give it to your brother."
I stood by his bed and handed it to him. He grinned.
"Sorry it was a bit small. I noticed you must have been very constricted!"
I grinned back. "Checking me out, eh? Care for a closer look?"
I dropped the towel and everything then happened. In moments we were in each other's arms on his bed licking and kissing each other, feeling each other's muscular bodies squirming and writhing with a passion and ecstasy I'd never even felt with Jake. I literally ripped off his atrocious boxers and we were immediately head to toe, slavering over each other's shafts. I shot my load in his gasping mouth in record time and, as I gave his slim, nicely proportioned dick a barrage of mighty sucks, he unleashed a copious amount of his own cream into my waiting throat. We hadn't finished. We lay side by side, mouths together, our tongues fucking and exchanging the coatings of spunk. His hand gripped my still erect cock and a second stream soon squirted, this time all over his torso. I recovered my breath for a few minutes and did the same for him. We then lay for ages on our backs, an arm round each other's shoulders, idly tracing patterns on each other in the splodges of our silvery juices.
At one point, after he'd felt me all over, he whispered "Yeah, you must have been a bit constricted. You're a big boy, young Ted! Must have been quite a squeeze!"
I was thinking up a suitable reply when he suddenly turned and looked at me.
"I love you, Ted, please love me."
I leaned forward and kissed him tenderly.
That began our, at present, twelve years of companionship and deep, deep love.
Over that time we've worked together, played together, been unavoidably separated, saved each other's lives at least twice, survived a bombing, and so on. But every time we needed each other that spark was there, a kindled lambent flame of love and absolute devotion. More or less successfully hidden from others we survived until the time came to make momentous decisions about the future.
I suppose I'd better cue you in on a few highlights, or even lowlights, over those intervening years. We didn't leave the Mansion, as it was known, for the first three months. Our tutors and instructors ranged from erudite academic types to real, gnarled trainers in all sorts of arcane arts. One much loved old Sergeant, who had spent years in his now amalgamated Scottish regiment, made a point of singling out Roddy, as he was patently Scottish, and me for special treatment - not always too pleasant - and had a fund of odd aphorisms and twisted proverbs which popped out much to the amusement of all. Once I had failed to do some particular part of an obstacle course to his satisfaction, I was made to repeat it until I mastered it. He stood by me and commented in his rich Scottish accent, "If at first you don't succeed, pull your foreskin o'er your heid!"
I learned to drive - not just the usual young man's fancy cars or more sedate family saloons but also real high-performance monsters which, with armour-plating, were said to weigh nearly three tons. I and Roddy, with two others were soon singled out for specialised computer training so when the others had their own grooves to follow we spent hours learning things no computer magazine would ever tell you.
Every six weeks or so Roddy had to break cover, as it were, and show his nose to his regiment. The first morning he had to go off he dressed in full Highland regimental dress, Black Watch kilt, big hairy sporran and all. As he turned to face me I laughed and he found himself on his back, by the application of a particular martial arts routine we had practised many times, with his kilt up and me checking that he wasn't wearing anything underneath. I was called a fucking Sassenach bastard so I gave his balls a friendly tweak and said that every time he wanked off during the next five days, and he wasn't to do it more than three times a day, he had to remember he'd left me behind.
We had that sort of relationship even then where we could say anything and everything to each other. As we lay in each other's arms each evening after some form of love-making we told each other our life stories. My relationship with Jake was discussed at length and he laughed when he heard of my little infatuation with Andrew Forbes. I heard about his life at Kinloch and his loving relationship with a lad called Miles through most of his school life. This lad, on leaving school, had emigrated to Canada and after studying there worked for some organisation which seemed very secret. He also confessed to having had a few other illicit liaisons while at school but all had to be kept very circumspect. Like Jake and me he said he wasn't in love with Miles. But, and this was the important point, that interview meeting in the CO's room, was the catalyst for both of us. I told him about my 'zing' and partial hardon. He admitted he couldn't keep his eyes off me all the time we were in the room. He said he had a clear image of me that night as he spilled his seed, and for many nights after that.
At the end of three months we had a week's leave. I'd written home to Mum and Dad, to my sister Pam and to both Jake and Jeffrey as regularly as possible. We had been asked, nay instructed would be a better word, not to reveal anything about where we were or our training. We were on trust. I had an address for a military base a few miles away but mail came in very promptly. I arranged to go home for a weekend and then went to stay with my sister who was starting the long haul to a PhD in Clinical Psychology. Mum and Dad were pleased to see me. Dad was unwell and, in fact, died suddenly from a heart attack a few months later. My appearance, looking fit, healthy, but in civvies as I was not attached to any specific regiment, cheered them up. My apparent misdemeanours with a now absent Jake were never alluded to but I did feel a bit on edge. My cover story was, as usual, that I was on specialised computer training.
After further training Roddy and I were assigned to our first task. This was to track some information concerning possible bomb making in North London. For this I was enrolled on a Business Studies course at a local college and over Christmas had to make myself look like a typical second-rate student to go with my carefully rehearsed cover story. I was found digs with a nice old lady and appeared on her doorstep in my new role. She wasn't fazed at my appearance - she'd had others looking just like me before. Roddy's parting shot was that I looked just like Shaggy in Scooby Doo. As he was working as a waiter in an Italian restaurant - no, not one belonging to Ferdy's relations - as his cover, I retorted that a greasy spoon was about the only thing he would be licking for the near future.
Suffice to say I was soon integrated with a little group of students who drank in a local pub in the evenings. I imbibed little, pleading student poverty, but kept eyes and ears open. One of the girls in the group was obviously sounding me out and relayed things which I knew, and my handlers knew, were incorrect. Gradually as I was accepted more and more I was able to identify two gents who drank regularly in the same bar in a larger group as the most likely suspects. After relaying names and addresses through Roddy, on visits to enjoy large plates of pasta, the two gents and the girl on the course disappeared and, when I left the course at the end of the term - saying I was going to transfer to another college - I heard that successful raids had been made and the miscreants were somewhere safe. I had a special commendation for that. Roddy got a second pip and a liking for Italian food as well.
Further training ended up with both of us being sent to a somewhat prestigious Northern university to take computer science degrees. That was the ostensible reason. The powers-that-be at the Ministry of Defence had discovered their network was vulnerable. In fact, there was a high probability it had been hacked into. There was also suspicion that the hackers were connected with the computer department of said university. It took us eighteen months of intensive learning and investigating before two research students disappeared and were never heard of again. The network was not compromised again - mainly because we were able to advise on the closure of back-doors, use of passwords, etc, etc., which was not helped by the highly publicised loss of laptops in taxis and pubs by rather forgetful MoD personnel.
Our relationship continued wonderfully during this time. After one term in a Hall of Residence a flat was found for us. Our handler was a stunning blond, Mary, who came up to see us regularly. Being seen in the company of a stunning blond, albeit one who could stun with a jab of two fingers, meant our relationship was never questioned. By now our relationship was an open secret with Colonel, as he became, Bullivant and his small team. At the end of the degree course Roddy was promoted to Captain and I had a crown to add to my invisible stripes.
Roddy, of course, had to keep up appearing at his regimental headquarters and also at home at Linnhe Castle in Scotland. I had no such ties but had to keep a low profile wherever I went. Not easy when you are six foot two and built with it. I kept in shape by regular work outs at the university gym. More than once I was propositioned by very nice-looking, buffed- up lads. No, I didn't waver, Roddy was mine and I was his. We spent many hours exploring each other and trying to give each other the most pleasure our bodies could muster. I was so glad we cared for each other so much as we never relapsed into some sort of stereotypical, stylised love-making. Each act was a pure act of love. We use to joke about having a headache, or, it being that time of the month, if there was something which was weighing us down. If either felt too jaded, or tired, or frustrated with problems, we worked all out of our systems by the way we cared for each other. There was a synchrony between us which was uncanny. Roddy said it was because we both had Scottish antecedents - my grannie came from the Highlands to work and married grandad - and so had second sight. I don't know about that but we never had a real spat - a few cross words at times, but never any quarrel that lasted more than an hour or so.
My first encounter with Roddy's family came one Hogmanay, the New Year of 1996/1997, just before we finished the computer science degree course. I was to be his driver and he was to make a two day visit only as he was required for a meeting in London. That was the story. I had to be in uniform and appeared as a corporal with false flashes and all. I even had to wear a kilt, or to be more exact, the kilt. Naturally, being only a driver, I was accommodated at Linnhe castle in the servants' wing. Now largely deserted, because servants were no longer in plentiful and cheap supply, but comfortable. I had royal treatment below stairs and found out much more about 'Master Roddy' as he was known to the adoring staff which I used to my advantage on several occasions when we returned.. I met his elder brother, who Roddy was bunking in with, Walter the Banker. He was an older version of Roddy and accepted me quite naturally as a soldier with a job to do. His younger brother, Paul, was now a fully-fledged member of Kinloch School having graduated from the preparatory department. We got on well and I had to give him several rides in the jeep which was our transport. He also asked me all sorts of awkward question about what I did other than drive the jeep. I told him I was the official haggis hunter for the regiment and had to enter each kill on a computer and he gave me a very peculiar look.
On the way back Roddy told me he'd passed on the family heirloom, the boys' size jockstrap. He said he wondered if young Paul had discovered the joys yet as he thought he was quite well-grown for nearly fourteen. I said no doubt as I had noticed the growth of hair on his legs when he was sitting in his kilt next to me in the front of the jeep.
With the end of the course in 1997 and getting our degrees new duties came. However, Mum and Pam came up and saw me arrayed in cap and gown at the degree ceremony . Roddy demurred from receiving his as his photo might be seen by someone and he kept very much in the background. Pam and Mum knew I shared a flat but I explained, untruthfully, that my flat-mate had gone home having finished and was looking for a job. I said the MoD had promised me a posting to do with computers but it was hush-hush. They didn't see me in uniform and managed not to blurt out anything when I introduced them to a couple of my class-mates and to two of my more favourite tutors as none of them knew what I really was.
The next four years went like wildfire. I was sent to Germany on one assignment and who did I meet but Ferdy and Dwayne, resplendent in maroon berets and sergeant's stripes having taken a parachute course. They were now instructors at the depot I was visiting. They were pleased to see me and twitted me that I was still one rank above them as Staff- Sergeant. I also heard what had happened to Bungho. They and Royston, now a sergeant at a depot in England, had found that Bungho always spent Saturday nights in the Sergeants' Mess getting pissed as a newt. They had spiked a half-bottle of vodka with two crushed-up Valium tablets purloined by Jason, who was in on the scheme but kept in the background, from his mum's supply. They'd followed Bungho as he wove his way back to his billet and solicitously offered him the bottle which he drank from greedily. They steered him to the back of one of the old huts where he soon fell into a stupor. His trousers and pants were swiftly removed and the gold lame jockstrap - a relic of Royston's stripping and posing career - was substituted. The final act, the insertion of the banana up his arse, was Dwayne's touch of brilliance. I remembered how Dwayne liked his food and always came back from the NAAFI with extra supplies! When he recovered in Sick Bay Bungho couldn't recollect what had happened to him. His story of having a quiet drink in the Mess was not believed and he had an almost immediate posting out. Dwayne said he was now Quartermaster at a Depot near Aldershot and, true, he did have the smallest dick on the Depot! We had several drinks to that taming of a 'phobe!!
Of course, I couldn't tell them why I was really there - my cover was setting up a new word processing and database system. In reality I spent a lot of time in a prison cell, with an MoD interpreter, interviewing a rather recalcitrant young German and finding out his more than odious affiliations and his hacking secrets. I'd spent some time exploring his computer and had uncovered a whole range of well-hidden nastinesses but there was much more in his spiteful little head. I had made my displeasure known after a couple of fairly fruitless interviews with the arrogant young man. My quiet complaints were taken on board by his keepers and the last two sessions were much more profitable. He spilled many beans and whether he survived I do not know. He was rather grey and sweating heavily when I sat the other side of the table on the final occasion as he was brought in by two ferocious looking Military Policemen. But, he named names and spelled out some very interesting codes with alacrity on that occasion. I got a very high commendation for that episode and a further promotion, to Company Sergeant Major.
During those years we had two spells in Ireland where once our cover was nearly blown and we were nearly blown up. A couple of times we averted a dangerous situation at the last moment. Not just there, but elsewhere, as one time we were ambushed and only Roddy's driving skills saved our bacon. I don't think our love making had ever been so intense as it was after that particular occasion!
So, the time had come to make decisions. In December 2000 Roddy had gone off to Edinburgh as his now nineteen-year-old Officer Cadet younger brother Paul was acting as sponsor for two of his friends who were making their commitment to each other. We had discussed many times how we might make our relationship known. Not in the Army. As far as his new regiment, another Highland one, was concerned, Roddy was celibate and spent his time in London if he wasn't in Edinburgh. Truth was we were together all the time he wasn't reporting in. I was a hidden cipher as far as the army was concerned, well-paid, but under cover; he was the open part of the team. I was spending much of my time investigating all sorts of ways in which networks could be and were compromised. Don't ask me where, but I was here and there. But, the job was telling on me. I was never rested. I had to be alert all the time. I rarely had leave. When I did, and Roddy was away playing his role with his family in Scotland, I now tended to stay with Jeffrey and his wife at the curate's house or with a sublimely happy pair at Oxford, Jake and Andrew. They'd become an item as soon as Andrew went there to read Mathematics. Jake was a Junior Fellow by then and now they are both Fellows of their respective colleges and live together in Iffley in connubial bliss. Both are very lucky. I never envied either, I had Roddy.
So, it's now the end of 2001 and the crunch has come, so had the air-mail letter this morning. It was strange. It was from Roddy's friend, Miles Turner, from Canada. Would I be interested in setting up a very secure computer network and be responsible for running it, at what I took to be a vastly inflated salary, for the world-wide organisation he represented? He noted that Roddy had recommended me and that Roddy would be based in Canada anyway.
I had ten days to decide. What to do?
The End
Previous stories of mine have been published on Nifty. There will be more! Be warned!
Spying on My Brothers: (45k: Incest Section: Apr 15 2000) Easter Rugger Tours (Dir: HS Section: Jun 10 2000) Jordan's Story (84k: HS Section: Jul 23 2000) Flip's Tale (Dir: HS Section: Apr 17 2002)
Read and Enjoy.