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Subject: Title story: "Sex Memories - V-1's" Author: Anonymous 83741873
From: TheXfan <ryzij@poczta.fm>
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Date: Tue, 22 Aug 2006 09:37:36 +0000
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SEX MEMORIES V ONES
I think no one enjoys being alone with his own thoughts when he is really horny.
It seems to be the nature of the human animal to want someone to be the
recipient of his horniness. I know it is true of me, and lest I be making
unreasonable assumptions, I trust it is true of others. The fact that having sex
is now more difficult than it was fifty years ago does not mean that I can't
think about it. Heaven forbid. I still believe God, in His wisdom, does not
fault a man or a woman for sexual desire or activity if it is done in Love and
with compassion for the other.
The time is Christmas, 1943. The place is London, England, in the depths of the
search for an attack procedure against the Nazi war machine and Rommel who
commanded it. The V-1s came over often and were rarely feared. They flew low and
always announced themselves with the familiar put-put-put-put. People in the
streets looked up at them, determined about when they would fall, and scattered
accordingly. The results were not particularly horrible. Seldom was anyone
killed or otherwise harmed.
For the American troops Pub crawls were normal in any town of any size. London
had the greater share. I frequently went with friends or with Gordon and Betty,
my English friends, to see the town at night. It was more than intriguing, it
was fascinating. Gordon showed me where the women who liked women gathered, he
identified the bull dikes for me he took me to where the whores gathered and
preyed on the customers, he showed me the clubs where the homosexuals (we had
not yet started saying `gay') met, and he took me and my friends to all sorts of
`normal' public houses. It not only was fun but also instructive to a guy from
Dullsville, South Dakota. The result was, of course, the determination to try
all of them. Such is the nature of the penis drive!
Occasionally I traveled alone. There was one French lad whom I knew as an eloper
from his own country because he had been identified with the Underground. He was
a super cocksucker, really an artist. I enjoyed him. Once when I went to his
particular Club to get his attention for the night, I met another young man,
thirtyish perhaps. We seemed to click.
The talk was careful, as it must be, but it was clear we both were interested in
each other for the night. I do not know how we know each other so quickly: I
think I could make my second million if I were able to define that phenomenon.
But we did. It was definitely mutual.
The ensuing hour was devoted to becoming truly acquainted. He was an agent in
the American OSS, the Office of Strategic Services, the forerunner of the CIA. I
had known several guys in the British Intelligence Service, but this was new.
We enjoyed our beers, we even had a couple of late martinis for a real night
cap. At the time to leave I suggested he come to my flat and have a drink. I
knew he understood what I meant. We walked. Jerry was sending over a few V-1s,
but no one paid much attention to them.
On arrival at the flat which I occupied with a Warrant Officer of some years, we
immediately went to my room. The understanding was tacit: the clothes were
removed in total silence as if the program had been rehearsed. There were arms
around each other, there were feels, there were touches around the buttocks and
up the anal canal, with hugs and kisses on the cheek without any kind of meaning
except sex.
We both fell into bed with his hand in my ass. He was probing, and I do mean he
was putting his forefinger as far up inside me as he could. The sensation was
unbelievable I could hardly wait for his prick up my asshole - not a virgin one
by any means, but a hungry one I admit. He entered, carefully. He had done this
before, this agent of the Intelligence Service. I was not his first or his only
conquest. And I wasn't exactly a virgin!
He fucked with a great deal of strength. He knew what to do. And he did it.
Just then Winnie wailed. The alert was on. Everyone was to go to the shelter as
bombs were expected. Total blackout was required. But the fuck was started and
now had to continue it had gone too far to stop.
The springs squeaked. The bed rattled. The fuck was great in the face of danger.
He was out of bed quickly, dressed, and I showed him an exit.
Then I went to the shelter, an old wine pantry on the lower level. The roommate,
the landlady, and someone I did not know were there. I just got inside the door
when the landlady accosted me with, "Who was the girl you were with, Captain, I
demand to know. I will not have her here." Naturally I denied the charge. She
persisted. I also persisted that I was with no woman.
She said, "Captain, I know those sounds. You had a woman in your bed and I
demand to know who she was." I continued to deny it. I don't now know, and
I never did know, what my roommate thought, but I suspect he surmised it
was a man.
I never told the landlady. I moved shortly after ...
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